


The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Revenge, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Series AU. Wee!Chester & Teen!Chester. Mary and John die in the fire on November 2nd. Deanna and Samuel Campbell take their grandchildren in to live with them. Samuel blames Sam for the fire and Mary's death but does nothing because Deanna loves her grandchildren. But when Deanna dies suddenly there is nothing standing between Samuel and Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Shadows

Dean Winchester stared at the orange flames roaring to life behind his father, inside his baby brother's nursery, as though mesmerized by their lively crackle and cheering light before his father shoved Sammy into his arms.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can," Dean's Daddy yelled over the sound of the fire, "Don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!"

The urgency in his father's voice triggered something in the four-year old and he turned as quickly as he could and dashed down the hall, his baby brother wailing in fright.

Dean raced down the stairs- nearly falling down them in his haste- and towards the front door, his heart pounding harder than it ever had before.

He ran towards the front door. His feet slipped on the rug in the entryway and again he almost fell; Sammy screaming with fear in his arms, but the four-year old managed to stay standing. Shifting his baby brother into an one-armed hold, Dean reached out and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it but the door wouldn't open. For a moment panic welled up within the young boy before he saw that the thumb-turn below the doorknob was sitting in the 'LOCKED' position.

Taking a deep breath, Dean twisted the thumb-turn and unlocked the door. Grabbing the handle again and threw the door open, stumbling onto the cement porch and then onto the front lawn, the grass cold and wet beneath his bare feet.

Breathing heavily, with the sound of his infant brother crying in his ear, Dean turned around to face the house, his eyes going wide at the sight of bright orange flames flaring from the window of his sibling's nursery.

The four-year old's eyes dropped to the open front door, expecting to see his father running out of the fiery blaze any moment.

"Daddy!" Dean called, "Daddy!"

The boy took a step forward and he was suddenly scooped up in a pair of strong arms. Unfortunately those arms did not belong to John Winchester. An older police officer who was only weeks from retirement, with a beard of steel-grey whiskers and a head of thinning white hair beneath his cap, picked up the Winchester brothers and began carrying them towards the safety of the road.

"Daddy!" Dean cried, his calls becoming more frantic, "Daddy! Daddy, please!"

The four-year old as a two firefighters approached the house and ran inside, heading up the stairs to where the fire was.

The police officer sat the boys down on the seat of his cruiser and crouched down beside them.

"What's your name, son?" the officer asked in a kindly voice.

"Dean," the four-year old answered, "Dean Winchester, sir. And this is Sammy."

The older officer nodded and smiled, "I'm Officer Hooper. But you can call me Bill."

"Are the firefighters gonna get my Daddy?" Dean asked. Now that his older brother wasn't running and scaring him, Sam was starting to quiet, his cries now turning to whimpers.

"They're going to do their best to get your Mommy and Daddy out, okay?" Officer Hooper told Dean.

The little boy nodded and peered down at his baby brother, lowering his head to speak quietly to the infant.

"Don't worry, Sammy," he murmured, "The firefighters are getting Mommy and Daddy."

Officer Hooper looked up and saw that the street was beginning to fill up with concerned neighbours and looky-loos. Catching sight of a young officer, Bill Hooper, motioned to him. The rookie officer walked over to his superior.

"Keep these people back, would ya?" Hooper asked and the younger cop nodded, turning around and calling out to the growing crowd of people to move across the street.

Returning his attention back to the Winchester children, Bill crouched down again and started asking the older brother what kind of sports he liked to play, if he was in school yet, etc. Just to get the kid's mind off what was happening. The baby was asleep in his sibling's arms.

SPN

Bill Hooper grabbed a blanket from the trunk of his cruiser and went around to the open passenger's side without closing the lid. Gently, thinking of his granddaughter as he did so, the officer laid the blanket over the sleeping Winchesters; Dean curled protectively around his baby brother.

Forty-five minutes had gone by since Dean had carried his sibling outside and the house was now creaking and smoking, no sign of the orange flames that had roared out of the second floor not so long ago. Sadly, there was no sign of the boys' mother or father either.

Leaving the brothers to sleep in the back of his cruiser, Bill approached one of the firefighters who had gone into the house.

"What does it look like happened?" he asked.

The firefighter, a young man not much older than the rookie cop Bill had order to keep the rubber-neckers back, shook his head, "I'd say some sort of electrical fire. The wires in the nursery walls all lit up like Christmas."

"The homeowners?" Bill asked.

"Shit," the firefighter muttered, "There was nothing left of the woman and her husband… I guess he got the kids out before going back for his wife. By the time we got there it was too late for him, the smoke got to him before we did."

"Shit," Bill agreed and left the firefighter.

He knew from experience that if no relatives were contacted tonight, the Winchester brothers would spend the night in a foster home.

"Hey! Sanchez! Have you been able to contact any family?" Bill asked a middle-aged, Latina officer who had been given the job of contacting the Winchesters' relatives to let them know what had happened.

The officer shook her head, "Still searching, Bill."

Walking over to Officer Reynolds, who was in charge, Bill told the man that he was going to talk to some of the neighbours and see if he could get any information from them.

Reynolds, only a few years younger than Hooper, chuckled, "Knock yourself out, Bill. But if those boys have family, Sanchez would have found them by now."

Deciding to ignore the remark, Bill wandered over to where the rookie cop was keeping order.

"Were John and Mary inside? Are they dead? Are their boys all right? How did the fire start?" a myriad of questions was thrown at Officer Hooper as soon as he approached.

In order to quiet down the crowd, he lifted his hands in a 'calm down' gesture before he spoke "The boys are all right. Right now we are trying to get into contact with any family John and Mary may have had so that they can take the boys for the night. Do any of you know if either Mary or John had any siblings or parents living nearby that we could get in touch with?"

A tall, thin man with a Friar's bald head and ring of hair around his head, stepped forward, along with a woman equally as tall and thin as him, though her hair was long and almost colourless.

"I'm Stan Kowalski and this is my wife, Wanda," he said in a surprisingly strong, loud, if heavily accented voice.

"We live just there," the man pointed and Officer Hooper saw he was indicating a dark brown house right beside the Winchester residence.

"You are next door neighbours," Bill said and Mr. Kowalski nodded.

"Mary, she had parents that live across town," Wanda Kowalski told Bill in a voice as equally loud as her husband's, though not as heavily accented.

"Do you know their names?" Bill asked.

Wanda frowned, clearly trying to recall if Mary had ever mentioned her mother and father's names to her.

"Their boys are named after Mary's parents," Wanda muttered, speaking mostly to herself.

Bill frowned, wondering if he should just contact CPS and have the brothers sent to a foster home for the night.

"Deanna! Deanna and Samuel Campbell!" Mrs. Kowalski exclaimed suddenly, startling Officer Hooper.

"You're sure?" he asked and Wanda nodded.

"Thank you," Bill said earnestly and went to find Sanchez and tell her the good news.

SPN

Deanna Campbell pressed a Kleenex to her face as her husband drove across town to where their daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren lived.

Lived, Deanna thought grimly, and began to cry in earnest.

Samuel, though he hadn't yet shed a tear, tightened his grip on the steering wheel so that his knuckles turned white.

The Campbells said nothing to one another as they drove closer and closer to their daughter and son-in-law's house. Despite the loss they had suffered, both Deanna and Samuel were grateful for the lives of their grandchildren.

W

The crowd of onlookers parted like the Red Sea for Moses as Samuel inched towards the still-smoldering house. There were less police cruisers now but a bright red fire engine still remained parked on the front lawn of the house like a hulking crimson sentinel.

Pulling up to the curb, Samuel parked the car but didn't turn off the engine. He and Deanna stared for a long moment at the dark house, billows of smoke still puffing out from the broken second story window every so often as the breeze sucked it out of the room.

The policewoman that had spoken to them on the phone- an Officer Sanchez- had told them that there had been a fire and that both Mary and John had been lost but their sons had made it out, hadn't the time to describe the damage to the house or the exact reason why their daughter and son-in-law never made it out.

"Oh Samuel," Deanna whispered and reached out to grab her husband's hand.

The old hunter picked up his wife's hand, kissed it, then opened the car door. As soon as he stepped out, he could smell the smoke and ash, hear the house groaning as though in pain, and he felt tears sting his eyes. Feeling as though he needed to remain strong for his wife, Samuel fought back the moisture in his eyes and started walking towards an older police office who was approaching him from across the lawn.

"Samuel Campbell?" the officer asked and the hunter nodded, shaking the man's hand as he introduced himself as Bill Hooper.

"Can you tell me what happened here?" Samuel asked, one hand waving in the direction of the house.

Bill nodded and sighed, "The initial report is that there was some sort of electrical issue in the nursery. The wires were faulty or something like that and caught the room on fire. Your daughter was in the room at the time the fire started and couldn't get out for one reason or another. Your son-in-law went into the room to get their son and had Dean carry him out of the house while he went back to try and get Mary. Unfortunately, the smoke was too thick and John succumbed to it. By the time the firefighters got to the nursery, it was already too late to save either of them."

Samuel nodded stiffly, feeling the threatening prick of tears again. Behind him, he heard Deanna- who had followed him out of the car- give a muffled cry, her sob likely stifled by a Kleenex.

"And my grandsons?" Samuel asked.

"They were both completely unharmed," Bill told him, "I can take you to them now if you like."

Deanna, heartened by the thought of seeing her grandchildren, slipped past Samuel to take the lead as the Officer led them to his cruiser where the boys still lay sleeping.

Deanna, peering down at the sleeping boys, smiled wetly, and reached out to stroke Dean's hair back from his forehead.

"Does he know about Mary and John?" she asked Bill without looking away from the children.

"I don't think so," he answered, "He expected his father to come out the door right behind him but… no, I don't think he realizes his mother and father are gone."

Deanna nodded and leaned down, whispering to the child.

"Dean," she cooed, "Dean, wake up, Honey."

The boy's green eyes fluttered and he groaned, jostling his baby brother who began to whimper.

"M-Mommy?" Dean asked and peered up, his expression confused for a moment before he smiled a bit, "Grandma!"

Deanna smiled and reached out to take Sam in one arm, now crying weakly, hazel eyes squeezed tight, and Dean in the other, planting a kiss on top of the four-year old's head.

"You and Sam are going to be staying with us tonight," she told her grandsons.

"Then tomorrow come back here for Mommy and Daddy?" Dean asked, turning his head towards the house, "Where's Mommy and Daddy?"

Samuel grimaced and reached out to take Dean and put him on his shoulders, "Let's race your Grandma and brother to the car? What do you say?"

"Yay!" Dean cried and Samuel trotted off towards the vehicle, snorting and neighing like a horse.

Deanna watched them for a moment before turning her attention to her younger grandson.

"It's okay, baby," she murmured and reached out her index finger; Sam instantly grabbed the digit and his crying began to soften.

"Hm, what's this?" Deanna muttered and peered at the infant's blue onsie.

Beside her, Bill frowned and looked at the child as well.

A single dark spot marred the front of the child's pajamas.

"Did Mommy feed you blueberries in your PJs again?" Deanna asked and hugged the infant to her before heading towards the car.


	2. First Few Desperate Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING this chapter contains themes (and thoughts of) infanticide. If the subject makes you uncomfortable please do not read this chapter.

Once the Campbells arrived home with their grandsons, Deanna took the two small boys upstairs to the guest bedroom they used whenever they came for sleepovers, when Mary and John needed to be by themselves for the night of if they were going out of town.

Deanna settled Sam into the crib beside the window- the crib itself, a unique piece carved from pine, was Mary's when she was an infant- and within seconds the baby was fast asleep, the excitement of the night exhausting him.

Turning to her eldest grandson, Deanna pulled the flower-pattered duvet up to Dean's chin and kissed him on the forehead.

"Grandma?" he whispered, his green eyes quickly slipping closed.

"Yes Sweetheart?" she stopped and asked, the four-year old looking so small in the twin-sized bed.

"I love you," the little boy muttered before his eyes closed completely and he was lost to sleep.

Deanna felt her heart clench in her chest and she whispered to both her grandchildren that she loved them as well before exiting the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

As Deanna walked down the upstairs hallway, she peered over the edge of the banister, which oversaw the front foyer, and noticed that the light in the den was on.

Making her way down the wide staircase, Deanna found her husband where she suspected he would be. Samuel was sitting in his snot-green fabric-upholstered reclining chair, staring at the blank television screen, beer in hand. The den, off a narrow hallway at the rear of the home and accessed by a pocket door, was a room designed for family and unlike the more proper living room at the front of the house, was usually warm and welcoming. Tonight though, Deanna felt herself shiver with cold; she didn't know where the chill had come from. There was a working fireplace in the far end of the room, pictures of Mary, John and their sons, along with Samuel and Deanna's wedding photos adorning walls covered in wood paneling. A deep blue shag rug covered the parquet floor and invited small children to play in its soft fibers. And yet, the room seemed to have taken on a chill as though it was not a part of the rest of the house, as though the hydro company had ceased sending heat to that particular room.

"Samuel?" Deanna asked but did not step into the room itself, remaining in the doorway, one slender-fingered hand gripping the pocket door.

Her husband didn't answer. Instead he lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and drank deeply.

"I'm going to make some tea and then go to bed," Deanna told her husband and turned around, eager to leave the cold that seemed to have settled into the once-warm and welcoming den.

The kitchen was definitely more favourable than the den was at that moment. The walls were painted a bright, cheery yellow, offset by dark-stained wood cabinetry; the counters laminate in a faux-beige marble design, an old wooden dining table that had leafs which could be added to seat as many as sixteen people- though not in the small kitchen- was an heirloom, handed down to Deanna from her great-grandmother. Photographs of Dean and Sam, drawings the older boy had created, hung on the refrigerator by magnets.

Deanna let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding and instantly felt warmth seep into her bones. Picking up the kettle, she filled it with water before setting it on the gas stove and turning on the burner. Making her way to the cupboards, she took a box of chamomile tea and a mug printed with butterflies down and set them both on the counter beside the stove.

Waiting for the whistle of the kettle, Deanna stood with her back to the kitchen, staring at the happy swath of paint between the bottom of the cupboard and the countertop. Suddenly she felt tears well up in her eyes and overflow, dripping onto the counter. Deanna's shoulders started to tremble with the force of her sobs and she quickly pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to stifle her cries.

She just couldn't believe it; it was just so unreal. Like Dean, a part of her believed that Mary and John were all right and that tomorrow morning they'd come knocking on the door with some daring tale of escape just as the fire engulfed the nursery.

But Deanna knew better. John and Mary had not made it out of the fire. They were gone.

Gripping the edge of the counter, Deanna lowered her head as tears continued to rain from her eyes.

Her daughter, her baby girl, was gone forever. After refusing to follow in her father's footsteps and become a hunter, after embracing the life of a civilian, Mary's demise had still come all too quickly.

It wasn't fair. No parent should have to bury their child. That wasn't the natural way of things. Not that natured cared about what some dotty old woman thought.

Deanna felt like screaming and never stopping. Her mouth was hanging open, the taste of salt on her lips and for a moment she thought she was actually screaming when she realized that the sound was not coming from her but the kettle.

Reaching out without looking, she grabbed the handle of the kettle and moved it from the burner, its shrill shriek shrinking down until it was silent, puffs of steam rising from its spout.

After a moment, Deanna opened the box of teabags and selected one, dropping it into the mug and took hold of the kettle again. Sloshing boiling water into the mug- and all over the counter- Deanna watched as the clear water in the cup slowly turned a golden yellow as the tea steeped.

SPN

As soon as Samuel walked through the front door, he stalked to the garage door, off the kitchen, where there was a small bar fridge. Unlocking the garage door and flicking on the light, Samuel stood still for a moment, his eyes roving over the empty spot where their car usually sat, the cement stained with oil and other unknown fluids. The warm scent of grease and pavement wafted up and the hunter breathed it in deeply before stepping into the garage, taking the three wooden steps down into the room. The bar fridge was ancient and dented, scratched but a tank of an appliance. It chugged noisily most of the time, its fan likely coated with dust and detritus but steadily working to cool.

Along the far wall, on the side farthest from the door leading into the house, was a workbench with tools hanging on a pegboard above it and Rubbermaid bins beneath it.

The garage was large- made for two vehicles- and since the Campbells only owned one vehicle, it provided a reasonable amount of space even when the family car rested inside. In Samuel's younger days, when he hunted more actively, the garage was his space- the family car relegated to weathering the elements in the driveway. The hunter had soundproofed the walls and ceiling of the garage, and reinforced the door leading into the kitchen with steel, opting for a steel garage door instead of a wooden one. In his prime, the garage allowed Samuel to prepare for hunts without any nosy neighbours peeking in to ask to borrow a weed whacker or snow blower or something.

But now Samuel no longer hunted actively, mostly choosing to advise younger hunters if they called on him, and sometimes they did, drawn to him because of his prowess and ruthlessness.

Crouching down, Samuel opened the bar fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer, slamming the door and heading back inside.

Moving silently through the house, the old hunter went straight to the den where in the past, the Campbell family would curl up and watch a movie or show on the television, bowl of popcorn within easy reach, laughing and crying with the characters on the screen and forgetting about the monsters that preyed on the elderly and the young, the weak and the strong, in the real world if only for a couple of hours.

Settling down in his reclining chair, Samuel opened his beer, letting the cap drop to the floor and staring at the black television screen.

If he thought hard enough he could remember Mary as a little girl, with a head full of blonde curls, blue eyes wide and sparking with curiosity, mouth always ready to smile, and his grip on the bottle of beer tightened.

His daughter was no more. Taken away in the very prime of life and by whom, by what? An electrical fire?

That was bullshit.

Mary was a hunter and no home accident would cut her down just like that.

No, Samuel felt certain, no, he knew, that some monster or creature had taken his daughter's life. That was the only explanation.

But what? Although Samuel was no longer an active hunter, that didn't mean he didn't keep tabs on strange occurrences, especially those in the town of Lawrence.

He hadn't heard of anything odd happening in town for the past few months- no electrical storms, no two-headed puppies or kittens being born, no disappearances, no houseplants or gardens withering and dying- but that meant nothing. Some supernatural bastards came without warning.

The police officer said that the fire had started in the nursery, Samuel recalled and took a long drink of beer, not even noticing his wife standing in the doorway, speaking to him.

Perhaps it was a ghost, Samuel thought but then dismissed the idea at once.

If it had been an angry or vengeful spirit, Mary would have been able to dispatch it easily.

No, it was something stronger, more sinister and insidious than a ghost.

Taking another drink of beer, Samuel's thoughts turned instead to the only other person in the room with Mary at the time of the fire.

Sammy.

The hunter knew that some monsters took on the form of little children so as to get close to and earn the trust of their victims. But Samuel doubted the infant was a changeling or shapeshifter; he had been there the day the boy was born and the birth had been an easy one, no complications, the child having all ten fingers and ten toes.

It was the boy; a sibilant thought weaseled its way into Samuel's mind. No ghost or ghoul but the boy himself. He killed Mary.

Lifting his beer one last time, Samuel drained the liquid and sat the empty bottle on the coffee table and stood.

Yes, Samuel thought, it had to be the boy.

He knew that some people were born with powerful psychic abilities and while most of them used their abilities for good, helping those in need, others had a nasty streak that only grew worse as they became older. Many unexplainable deaths could actually find their source at the hands of one psychic or another.

Moving through the ground floor of the house, Samuel heard his wife weeping bitterly in the kitchen but he ignored the sound, intent on seeing the murdering infant for himself.

Holding onto the railing, Samuel walked silently up the staircase, his footsteps muffled by the beige carpet, and straight for the guest bedroom where his grandsons slept.

The door had been left ajar and the hunter at first didn't open it any further. Peering into the room, he spied his older grandson sleeping peacefully in the twin bed, the duvet cover pulled up to his tiny chin.

Then, Samuel's eyes roved around the room and landed on the small form in the crib by the window.

Mary's crib, Samuel corrected and felt a sudden wave of anger wash through him at the thought of the baby sleeping in his victim's old crib.

Pushing the door open, the hunter crept silently across the floor, pausing only to pick up a miniature, decorative pillow Deanna had made, from the rocking chair in the corner.

Stepping up to the crib, Samuel stood peering down at the sleeping infant just as the demon Azazel had only hours before.

Gripping the small pillow in his hands, the old man raised it and dropped it into the crib beside the sleeping baby's head.

The infant, chubby, with a head of hair so dark it was nearly black, continued sleeping, unaware that death was so close.

Reaching down into the crib, Samuel took a hold of the pillow and moved it over the baby's face.

For a moment the man remained as he was, holding the pillow lightly over his grandson's head.

It would be so easy to press down on the ornamental pillow and smother the life from the infant, like swatting a fly. Samuel could do it, with little effort, and no one would be the wiser; babies died suddenly all the time, even in this great country. Crib death, they called it, or SIDS, and it was unavoidable, tragic, yes, but blameless.

Samuel took a breath and slowly began to press down on the pillow. Beneath it, the baby woke and made a muffled cry, squirming.

"Grandpa?"

The hunter froze at the sound of his older grandson's voice.

Lifting the pillow from the infant's face, Samuel picked up the baby and held him.

Sam was crying and gasping for air, his small fists waving feebly in the air.

"Is Sammy all right?" Dean asked and climbed across the bed towards his grandfather and brother.

Samuel lifted the infant against his chest and began rubbing circles against his back, completely calm.

"He's just a little gassy, Dean," he told the four-year old.

"I want to hold him," the boy said and stepped onto the carpet, holding his hands out.

Samuel obliged, not wanting to hold the infant any longer and watched as the four-year old cooed and gently patted his brother's back as though he had done so a thousand times.

"Mommy lets me burp Sammy after he eats sometimes," Dean told his grandfather, "It's funny."

Samuel plastered a smile on his face, reaching into the crib as his grandson was distracted, to pick up the pillow. Surreptitiously he tossed the pillow behind himself and back onto the rocking chair.

Within a moment the infant was whimpering, calming down after his near-death experience.

"Let's put him back in his crib," Samuel suggested, "You need to go back to sleep."

"Okay," Dean muttered reluctantly, kissing his baby brother on the head and handing him over to his grandfather.

Samuel lay the baby down on the mattress in the crib and peered down at him. The infant's eyes were half-closed, his breathing once again even.

Tearing his gaze away, the hunter turned to his older grandson.

"Into bed now," he told Dean and the four-year old obeyed, crawling back onto the twin bed and yanking the duvet up to his chest.

"Goodnight Grandpa," the boy said and Samuel nodded.

"Goodnight, Dean."

"Grandpa," the four-year old said.

"What?" Samuel asked,

"You forgot to say goodnight to Sammy," Dean told him.

Samuel's jaw clenched, "Goodnight Sammy."

The four-year old settled back down and sighed, quickly falling to sleep again.

The hunter walked to the door and peered once more at the infant in the crib before he left the room, leaving the door ajar, just as his wife had.

Samuel walked slowly down the staircase, peering over the banister and seeing that the kitchen light was on.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, the old hunter made a beeline for the lighted room and found Deanna sitting at the dining table, a cup of tea in her hands, her eyes red and raw looking.

"Would you like a cup?" his wife asked and Samuel found himself nodding though he didn't even like tea.

Pulling out a chair, he sat down at the table and placed his head in his hands as he listened to Deanna turn the burner back on and take a mug from the cupboard.

"We can't do this," Samuel muttered, "We can't look after those boys."

"What do you mean? They are our grandsons," Deanna's voice replied from across the kitchen.

Her husband lifted his head and lowered his hands.

"We can't Deanna," he insisted.

"Samuel," his wife said softly, "Those boys are the only thing we have left of Mary."

The old hunter's mouth twisted; Deanna though, thought that the expression was one of grief and she stepped forward, laying a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"I'm feeling the same things as you," she assured him, "I know its not going to be easy raising two boys- we're not as young as we used to be- but I cannot and will not allow our grandsons to be taken away from us."

"Oh Deanna," Samuel murmured and reached up to touch his wife with a hand that only minutes ago had nearly snuffed the life of his youngest grandson.

"They're our flesh and blood," Deanna whispered, her eyes moist, "We can't abandon them."

Samuel's bird-of-prey brown eyes looked into his wife's soft cornflower blue ones. He knew that nothing he said would convince his wife to give the boys over to Protective Services. Even if he reminded Deanna they were both too old to be looking after a couple of boys not even in school yet, even if he reminded her they were on a fixed income, even if he reminded her that they were living in a mature neighbourhood where no one was younger than fifty.

No, the love shining out from Deanna's eyes told Samuel that she had not seen the younger boy for what he really was- as Samuel had- and believed that their daughter and son-in-law had died in some freak electrical fire.

Although Deanna knew about the monsters that hunted innocent people, sometimes Samuel marveled at how willfully ignorant she could be, how naïve she was.

The hunter said nothing about his thoughts on the younger Winchester- the real reason he wanted to boys out of his house, even Dean, who seemed as normal as apple pie- and smiled at his wife, squeezing Deanna's hand.

"You're right," he said just as the kettle began to whistle, "You can't abandon your own flesh and blood."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by The Mountain Goats.
> 
> Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you are enjoying the story!


	3. New Frontier

Deanna and Samuel sat side-by-side on the rose-coloured sofa in the living room, their daughter and son-in-law's lawyer sitting on one of the two matching armchairs across from them.

Dean was seated on the carpet, playing with some Matchbox cars he had left at the house the last time his family had visited. Sammy was nestled in his grandmother's arms, eyes half-closed and contentedly making soft cooing noises.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Deanna asked the lawyer and the man nodded, "Thank you, Mrs. Campbell."

Deanna offered a small smile before turning to her husband, "Can you hold Sammy while I get Mr. Addison some tea."

Samuel looked as though he wanted to protest but before he could speak, his wife was pressing the soft, warm bundle that was his youngest grandson into his arms.

The two men were silent, listening to the sounds of the woman bustling around in the kitchen, the baby's burbling and the four-year old's repeated mutterings of "zoom, zoom, zoom" as he drove the toy cars over the carpet.

"Here we are," Deanna announced, walking back into the living room with a tray on which sat three cups, a china teapot and a saucer of wafer cookies.

She set the tray down on the coffee table before sitting back down beside her husband, "Please, help yourself."

Dean, seeing thre was food, scooted on his bum over to the table and grabbed a chocolate wafer.

The lawyer took a moment to pour some tea into one of the cups before he began speaking.

"I just want to say how sorry I am for your loss," he told the Campbells, "None of this can be easy for you."

"Thank you," Deanna murmured and Samuel nodded.

Now that his wife was in the room again, the hunter handed the infant to her, Sam fussing, not happy to be passed from person to person like a hot potato.

Deanna cradled the child in her arms, the motion second nature to her before she leaned forward and dexterously poured herself some tea.

"Now," Mr. Addison said after taking a sip from his own cup of tea, "Mary and John had the foresight to draw up wills. Even though they were relatively young, they insisted- especially your daughter- that they needed to make sure their sons were taken care of should anything happen to them."

Samuel gave a slight smile, "Mary was always a planner. Always thinking ahead."

The lawyer nodded, "They made sure everything would go to Sam and Dean. Though, since the boys are still very young, you two are the responsible for their assets until they are eighteen."

"The mortgage for the house has been paid off," Mr. Addison continued, "So you don't have to worry about that. You could sell the house or rent it out if you desire."

Deanna reached out and took hold of her husband's hand, "You also will have access to both your daughter and son-in-law's bank accounts, as well as the savings account they had set up for the boys."

"We're not concerned about money," Deanna insisted, "We can manage."

The lawyer nodded, "I'm sure you can. I'm just letting you know what you now have available to you in order to help take care of expenses such as funeral costs and education for the boys."

"Now, your son-in-law was co-owner of G & W Auto Repair in town with a Mr. Mike Guenther. Ownership of the property will automatically go to Mr. Guenther now that your son-in-law has passed but you will need to go to the County Register and fill out a document officially stating that he is sole owner of the garage, again, since your grandsons are too young to do so."

"We can do that," Samuel told the lawyer.

Mr. Addison took a sip of his tea, "As I've said, the house is paid for, so you don't have to worry about that. The contents inside the house are yours to do with as you wish. You can keep what you want and sell the rest if you like, except for one item."

The Campbells looked at the lawyer questioningly.

"John was insistent that his 1967 Chevrolet Impala not be sold or given away."

Samuel raised a busy eyebrow, "Really?"

Mr. Addison nodded, "He made it very clear that he wanted his boys to have it when they were older."

The hunter shrugged.

"Grandma?"

Deanna looked over at her grandson.

"Can I have some more cookies?"

The woman saw that there were only crumbs left on the saucer she had brought out with the tea, "Dean! You should have left some for our guest."

The four-year old lowered his head, chagrinned.

"Sorry," he muttered but Deanna chuckled, letting the boy know she wasn't really mad at him.

"How about we bake some fresh cookies after lunch?" she suggested and her grandson nodded.

Mr. Addison finished his tea and stood, shaking hands with Deanna and Samuel, the hunter following him out to the foyer to see him out.

"Dean, Sweetheart, come sit here beside me for a minute," Deanna patted the spot on the couch her husband had vacated.

Picking up a toy car in each hand, the four-year old climbed up on the sofa beside his grandmother. Deanna smiled and brushed the boy's hair back from his forehead for a moment.

"Do you know why Mr. Addison was here?" she asked the boy.

"To talk about Mommy and Daddy," Dean answered, driving one of the cars on the arm of the sofa.

"Yes, but do you know why?"

The four-year old didn't answer for a moment but then looked over at his grandmother, face scrunched in concentration.

"Mommy and Daddy didn't come to get Sammy and me this morning."

"No, they didn't," Deanna agreed.

"They're dead," the boy said matter-of-factly, "They're up in Heaven now with God and the angels."

Deanna nodded, "Yes, they are."

"So, they're not coming back?" the four-year old asked, his green eyes wondering.

His grandmother gave a small smile, "They're not coming back, Sweetheart."

Dean lowered his head, one hand pushing the toy car along the arm of the sofa without even realizing he was doing it.

"Then, maybe we could visit them," Dean asked, a smile spreading across his face.

Deanna felt tears well up in her eyes, "We can't go visit them, Dear."

Dean frowned, "Why not?"

"Because there's no way to get there," she answered.

"Mommy and Daddy got to Heaven," the four-year old reminded her.

"Yes, but that's because they died," Deanna felt her tears overflow and begin to leak down her face.

"Grandma," the four-year old said and reached out, touching Deanna's cheek.

"I'm okay," she assured her grandson. In her arms, Sam started to whimper, his chubby arms waving angrily.

The woman wiped her face and brought the child up to rest against her shoulder, murmuring to him.

"Mommy and Daddy are not coming back," Dean said, "So Sammy and I won't ever see them again?"

Now it was the boy's turn to start crying.

"Oh Dean," his grandmother said and reached out to draw him to her with her free hand.

"You'll see them again," she told him, "But not for a long, long time."

Dean wiped the palm of his hand over his damp, freckled cheeks, "But I want to see them now!"

His grandmother gave a weary sigh, "You know what memories are, right?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, they're pictures of things that happened before but only in my head."

Deanna smiled, "Then you can see your Mommy and Daddy any time you want, if you just think about them in your head, look at your memories of them."

"Really?" the little boy asked and the old woman nodded, "Really."

Dean gave a watery smile and hugged his grandmother. Turning his head so that he was facing his baby brother, Dean spoke, "And I'll help Sammy remember Mommy and Daddy 'cause he's only a little baby. I don't remember things from when I was a baby so he can't either. But I'll tell him all about Mommy and Daddy so he'll have my memories too!"

Deanna raised her head and felt her eyes well up again, "That's a great idea, Dean."

Samuel returned to the living room and sat down in the chair that the lawyer had vacated.

Lowering her head, his wife wiped at her eyes before addressing her older grandson, "Why don't you and Grandpa go out and rake up the leaves that are all over the backyard? When you're finished I'll have lunch ready."

"Sure!" Dean tossed the toy cars onto the couch cushion and slid off the piece of furniture.

Samuel gave his wife a look but Deanna just shot one back at him.

"I've been asking you all week to rake those leaves," she reminded him, "At least now you have a helper."

"C'mon Grandpa, C'mon!" Dean ran over to Samuel and tugged at his hand, eager to go outside and play in the leaves.

Deanna remained were she was on the couch, her infant grandson resting his cheek against her shoulder, as her husband and older grandson left the room and went into the front hall to grab coats and boots.

She smiled as she listened to Dean go on and on about how he was going to make the biggest pile of leaves, ever! Chuckling, Deanna stood and turned to the coffee table where the tray of tea dishes sat. Mouth turned down, she realized she wouldn't be able to carry both tea tray and infant so she shrugged and took her grandson into the kitchen, deciding to come back for it later.

"There," Deanna said as she settled the baby into Dean's old high chair- Mary and John had brought it over when Sam was born so he'd have one keep at Grandma and Grandpa's house- and smiled lovingly at the infant, "All comfy cozy."

The boy's hazel eyes scrunched up and he laughed, waving his chubby hands.

"Now, I'm just going to go get the-" Deanna began but paused when she heard her husband calling her name.

"Deanna! Can you get Dean a pair of mittens?"

"I'll be right back," the woman told the baby and made her way to the front hall and grabbing a pair of child-sized gloves from the basket in the closet.

Making her way to the rear of the house, Deanna admonished her husband, "You might not need mitts, but Dean's only a little boy. He needs a hat and coat and mitts."

Samuel nodded, clearly irritated with his wife telling him how to properly dress a child for outdoor activities, he took the offered gloves and closed the sliding glass door.

Deanna watched for a moment as her four-year old grandson ran through the leaves carpeting the lawn, laughing and whooping.

"Now, the tea tray," she muttered to herself and headed back the way she came, pausing at the kitchen doorway to check on Sam and frowned.

The tea tray was sitting on the counter.

"How did that…" Deanna muttered, trying to remember when she had picked it up.

"Don't start forgetting things like that, Dee," she told herself, "That's not a good sign."

Walking through the kitchen, Deanna moved the tray so that it was beside the sink and began placing the dirty dishes in the washer, dumping the unused tea down the drain in the sink.

Sam, sitting in his seat and watching his grandmother, babbled happily, hitting the plastic high chair tray with the flat of his hands, hazel eyes sparkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by Iron Maiden.  
> Please leave a comment or kudos!   
> I have decided to give Sam some benign psychic powers- nothing to extravagant or crazy- but strange things will happen in the story that only fuel's Samuel's suspicions that his younger grandson is not human. Sammy won't even know he's doing anything.


	4. Welcome to the Black Parade

Three days later, on November 6th, Samuel, Deanna and their grandsons drove to St. Rita's Church for Mary and John Winchester's funeral.

Arriving early in the morning before anyone else, they were greeted by the solemn priest- an elderly man named Father McNaughton- and shown how the nave and alter had been prepared for the sad occasion.

As her husband spoke quietly with Father McNaughton, Deanna walked deeper into the church, holding Sam in one arm and holding Dean's hand in her free one, pausing only to dab holy water on their foreheads from the marble basin just inside the nave.

Walking slowly down the main aisle, Deanna saw that the first three rows of pews had pieces of paper reading 'RESERVED' had been taped to them, for family members to sit. In front of the alter were pots of lilies, a large photograph of Mary and John's wedding picture sitting on an easel… and two caskets with their lids closed.

"Mommy and Daddy are in there?" Dean whispered to Deanna and she nodded, feeling tears well up in her eyes.

Releasing her hand, the boy ran forwards, dress shoes hitting the carpeted floor with dull thuds as he approached the two coffins.

"Dean," Deanna said, not sure what her grandson was going to do. In her arms, Sammy fussed and whimpered.

The older Winchester boy crouched down, peering at his reflection visible in the darkly polished wood of one of the caskets.

"Daddy," he whispered so quietly his grandmother almost didn't hear him, "I promise I'll teach Sammy how to play football when he's bigger, just like you said."

The child reached out with one hand and laid his palm against the casket for a moment. Then, he turned to the second coffin.

"Mommy," the boy said and Deanna heard his voice hitch, "I'll look after S-Sammy. I wo-won't let anyone hurt h-him… Mommy… I miss you and I want to see you and Daddy but Grandma says we can't go an' visit you in Heaven. All I have is me-memories but... but… "

No longer speaking, whimpering instead, the boy leaned forward and kissed the casket. Straightening, the four-year old wiped his face, sniffing and returned to Deanna's side.

"Dean," she said and knelt down, hugging her grandchild tightly in a one-armed hug.

"I miss her too," she told the boy, "And your Daddy."

"I don't want them to be dead," Dean cried, "I want them to be here with Sammy and me!"

"I know, Sweetheart," Deanna murmured, tears falling from her eyes and onto Sam's blanket, "Me too."

Her four-year old grandson buried his face against her shoulder, small hands gripping at her black dress, sobbing.

Deanna held back her urge to lose control and join the boy in his crying. She needed to be strong for the child.

With her own eyes moist, she pulled back from the hug, "C'mon Dean, let's go to the bathroom so we can wash your face."

Dean wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded.

"And I think Sammy needs a clean diaper," Deanna commented, catching a whiff of bowel movement odour wafting up from the infant.

They passed by Samuel and the priest on the way out of the church to get the diaper bag from the car when the hunter laid a hand on his wife's arm, nodding to their older grandson.

"He all right?"

Deanna nodded, "I think it's all just hitting him now."

Samuel's mouth thinned but he said nothing. Instead he turned back and continued his conversation with Father McNaughton.

Retrieving the diaper bag from the car, Deanna and Dean stepped back into the narthex of the church. Sam, now uncomfortable, began to wail.

"Shhh," Deanna murmured, "Shhh."

Leading her older grandson into the women's restroom off of the narthex, Deanna pulled down the plastic change table that was bolted to one wall as Dean went into a stall.

The grandmother quickly unwrapped the infant from the blanket and undid the snaps on his onsie so that she could change his diaper.

The baby was still crying and kicking his legs furiously as Deanna opened the diaper to reveal a brownish, foul-smelling liquid inside.

"Oh Sweetie," she murmured and dug in the bag she had brought for wipes and a clean diaper.

"Is Sammy okay?" Dean asked, peering up at his brother with concern in his green eyes.

He had finished using the toilet and was now standing beside his grandmother.

"I think he just has an upset tummy," Deanna assured the four-year old.

"Don't you?" she asked the baby as she carefully began to wipe his bum clean.

Once the infant was dressed in a clean diaper again, Deanna handed him to his brother so she could wash her hands.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured to his brother, holding the baby's face close to his, "I've got you."

"Do you want to carry him for a little bit?" Deanna asked as she slipped the strap of the diaper bag over one shoulder.

The four-year old nodded and followed his grandmother into the church proper.

SPN

Dean stood silent between his grandmother and grandfather as they greeted friends and family members arriving to pay their final respects to John and Mary.

The priest stood across from the boys and their grandparents, speaking in quiet tones to the new arrivals.

There were many faces that Dean didn't recognize. He knew many of his mother and father's friends- some because they came over to have dinner with the Winchester family; others because they had children Dean's age to play with- but many of the people passing him in the narthex were strangers.

"Your Mommy's cousins," his grandmother had bent down to tell him when he'd glanced up at her uncertainly as the first unfamiliar face appeared, greeting the Campbells but ignoring the boys.

Most of the people Dean's grandma called 'Mommy's cousins' ignored him and, even Sammy, though he was in Deanna's arms, fussing and waving his arms.

"Can I hold Sammy?" Dean asked his grandmother after a time, tired of standing around and staring up at the adults who more or less paid him no attention.

"Let me know when he gets too heavy for you," Deanna said and passed the younger Winchester to his brother.

Dean cuddled his face against Sammy's, breathing in his familiar scent.

"You're not too heavy for me," the four-year old whispered and smiled when his brother placed a soft, warm hand on his cheek.

Sam cooed contentedly, blowing bubbles with his spit and laughing. Dean laughed too.

Time passed more quickly with Dean holding onto his baby brother and before he knew it, his grandma and grandpa were moving into the church with the priest so that the funeral could start.

Dean followed along behind Samuel and Deanna, his brother cradled in his arms.

"I can take him now, Dean," his grandma said as they stopped at the first pew in front of the altar but the four-year old shook his head.

As Father McNaugton droned on about Mary and John Winchester- they had never gone to church and so were unknown to the priest- in a generic speech spotted with information about the deceased provided by Deanna and Samuel, Dean murmured to his sibling.

"Mommy and Daddy are in Heaven now, Sammy," he whispered, "But that's okay 'cause we'll still get to see them again but not for a long time. Don't be sad, though, 'cause we have memories of them, see? And Grandma said that if we want to see Mommy and Daddy now all we have to do is think of them. I'll help you. Don't worry."

Sam stared up at his brother with wide hazel eyes, quiet and listening.

"Mommy has long yellow hair and blue eyes and she always smiles," Dean continued, feeling his eyes begin to grow warm, "And she always bakes the bestest pies."

"Daddy's big and strong. He can throw a football really, really far. And he knows everything about cars."

"Dean," his grandma's voice said and the four-year old looked up.

"It's time to be quiet now," she told him and Dean nodded.

"I'll tell you that every day, Sammy," the four-year old whispered, "So you never forget Mommy and Daddy."

Sam burbled and reached out to put a hand on his big brother's cheek.

SPN

The ground had not yet frozen, the autumn late in coming though many trees had already shed their leaves, so the assembled friends and family walked the short distance to the cemetery behind the church so that they could watch the caskets be buried.

Deanna walked with her grandsons, the finality of the morning's proceedings catching up with her and she struggled to keep from crying.

Samuel, one of the pall bearers for their daughter's casket walked ahead of the group beside the men carrying John's coffin.

The gravestone they had picked out was a simple square of red granite, with Mary and John's dates carved in it, along with a single sentence- one that Deanna had told her only child each night as she tucked her into bed and that same child told her own children up until her death- carved beneath the information about the life and death of the husband and wife. Deanna found herself reading that sentence again and felt her tears overflow.

'Angels are watching over you.'

Father McNaughton said a few more quick words, recited Psalm 23 and then the caskets were lowered into the open grave.

Dean, holding onto her hand squeezed her fingers tightly as the caskets gently hit the bottom of the graves and Samuel approached the opening in the ground, bending down and tossing a handful of soil on top of the two caskets.

Deanna felt the four-year old's hand slip out of hers and watched as Dean approached the grave, crouched down and dropped double handfuls of dirt onto the caskets.

SPN

Dean sat quietly on the sofa in the living room, surrounded by adults talking in muted tones over paper plates of food and plastic cups of punch- or, if they desired, something stronger. His brother was upstairs taking a nap so the four-year old was on his own.

Not sure what to do with himself, the little boy slid off the couch and walked around the room, staring up at the faces of the adults eating and talking quietly.

Leaving the living room, the little boy made his way down the hallway, past the kitchen where casseroles, and pies and cakes sat out, waiting to be eaten, and found the den was empty. Stepping into the room, Dean sat down on the shaggy carpet and stared around at the pictures on the walls- photos of his grandma and grandpa when they were young, his mother and father's wedding portrait, snapshots of him and Sammy- and smiled.

His Mommy and Daddy were gone but he had his memories of them, memories he could share with his baby brother, and Grandma and Grandpa had lots of pictures of them too.

Dean moved to the well-worn couch across from the television, and standing on the tips of his toes, peered at a picture of him, Sammy and their Mommy that Daddy had taken.

"I love you, Mommy," the four-year old whispered to the picture before letting his knees unlock and bouncing on the couch.

"Dean? Dean, honey, do you want something to eat?" his grandma's voice spoke to him and he turned to see her standing in the doorway.

"Yeah!" he climbed off the couch and followed his grandmother into the kitchen for some lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by My Chemical Romance.  
> St. Rita of Cascia is the patron saint of difficult marriages, impossible causes (like St. Jude), infertility and parenthood.  
> Not a lot of action in this chapter- kind of just a fluff one- but things will pick up again in the next one, I promise.  
> Please leave a comment or kudos, either would be much appreciated.


	5. Here For You

Deanna peered over at Samuel standing in the doorway of the guest room as she held their youngest grandson in her arms, rocking her body back and forth, trying to calm him.

Thirty minutes ago, the Campbells had woken to the sound of the infant crying and Deanna had instantly gone to check on both boys, finding the younger of the two lying in his crib, tears streaming from his tiny hazel eyes and smelling strongly of bowel movement.

Changing the infant's diaper, the grandmother had found liquid stool, just as she had that morning at the church and a growing rash. Even after being cleaned and dressed in a new diaper, the infant hadn't quieted and continued crying unhappily.

His older brother sat up on the guest bed, eyes wide with concern for his sibling.

"I'm going downstairs to sleep," Samuel told his wife before turning from her.

Sighing, Deanna murmured to her younger grandson, remembering the all-nighters she had pulled when Mary was an infant and colicky.

"Why don't you go downstairs with your Grandpa, Dean?" Deanna asked, not wanting to keep the four-year old up.

The little boy shook his head, "I wanna make sure Sammy's okay."

"I know you do, Dear, but you need your sleep," she reminded him.

"I'll sleep when Sammy does," the boy insisted, his lower lip pouting out.

Deanna sighed and nodded, certain that it was going to be a long night.

SPN

Sammy woke up just as sky was turning light and whimpered. He lay on the twin bed, in between his brother and grandmother. After a long two hours, he had finally exhausted himself and had fallen asleep, allowing both Dean and Deanna a chance to rest as well.

Instead of leaving the infant, the grandmother had laid down on the twin bed with both her grandchildren and fell promptly asleep.

Sammy stared up at the ceiling, blinking.

He was hungry. His tiny stomach growled and he whimpered again.

Sammy wanted to eat but never felt good after his grandmother gave him a bottle. He knew that whatever was in the bottle wasn't what he usually had. It tasted different.

But his Mommy wasn't here anymore and he didn't know why. So his Grandma gave him different milk.

Missing his mother, Sammy started to cry in earnest, kicking his legs and waving his arms.

Deanna sat up and picked him up.

"What's wrong, baby?" she asked, "Are you wet?"

From behind him, Sammy heard his brother getting up and twisted around, reaching for Dean.

"It's okay, Sammy," his brother assured him and reached out to hold onto his tiny hand.

Sam started crying harder.

"Are you hungry?" his grandmother asked, "Why don't I fix you a bottle?"

Sammy stared at Deanna from narrowed hazel eyes. She smiled at him and stood up.

"Come on, Sweetheart," she said to the baby, "Grandma make you a bottle."

The infant's crying softened to whimpering as his grandmother carried him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Deanna put Sam into his high chair and then began to boil the water needed for the bottle.

Sammy watched his grandmother as she prepared a bottle with formula for him, his tears drying up.

"Can I feed him, Grandma?" Dean asked, looking over to Deanna from where he stood in front of his brother's high chair.

"Why don't I get you some breakfast for you and I'll give Sam his bottle?" Deanna asked and the four-year old nodded.

"Okay," he smiled, "We can have breakfast together, Sammy!"

The baby made an irritated noise; he wanted his bottle. Even if the stuff inside didn't make him feel good. He was hungry.

"I know, baby," his grandmother murmured, "It's still a bit too hot for you to drink."

Sam stared at the bottle sitting on the counter, where Deanna had left it so she could get breakfast ready for his brother, and frowned.

The sound of footsteps drew the infant's attention away from the bottle and he turned his head to see Samuel standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Good morning," Deanna said, "How did you sleep?"

"Better," the hunter replied, "Once I didn't have to listen to that crying anymore."

His wife scowled, "He's a baby, Samuel. Baby's cry. Mary cried when she was a baby or don't you remember."

"I wasn't in my fifties when Mary was a baby," Samuel commented and looked at Sammy in a way the infant didn't like.

Scared, Sammy's lip started to tremble and water filled his eyes.

"Anyway," Samuel continued, looking away from the infant, "I wanted to go over to the house today, maybe go through some of Mary and John's things. See what we can save and what we could sell or keep for the boys when they're older."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Deanna asked but Samuel shook his head.

"Can I come?" Dean asked, "Please. I want some more toys."

"I don't know," the boys' grandmother said, hesitating, "I don't think you should be there."

"Oh come off it, Deanna," Samuel interrupted, "The boy's four-years old. He'll be fine."

His wife scowled, "Fine, since you're so keen on letting him come along, Samuel, you better look after him."

Kneeling down and out of her youngest grandson's voice- which upset him- Deanna spoke to Dean, "You do what your grandfather tells you to, okay? If he doesn't want you running off, you stay were he can see you."

The little boy nodded, "Okay, Grandma."

Sam, hungry and angry that the bottle was taking so very long to cool down, let out an angry squawk.

"Okay, okay," Deanna picked up the bottle and checked the temperature of the liquid inside by squirting a small drop onto the inside of her wrist, "It's finally ready. Samuel, can you finish getting Dean some breakfast?"

As his grandmother approached him with the bottle, Sammy reached out, and then the rubber nipple was in his mouth and he was gulping down the formula as fast as he could.

SPN

"Remember to listen to your Grandfather," Deanna told the boy as she stood in the hallway as Dean and Samuel dressed for the outdoors.

"Can I bring Sammy some of his toys?" the four-year old asked and Deanna frowned.

"Maybe your grandfather can help you find some, okay?"

Dean nodded and zipped up his jacket, stepping from foot to foot, eager to go.

"Please watch him," Deanna asked her husband as she moved towards him, "I don't want him seeing anything that might scare him."

Samuel nodded and kissed her on the cheek.

In the kitchen, Sammy started to cry and the hunter sighed in exasperation.

"We'll be back in a couple of hours," Samuel told her and opened the door, ushering Dean outside ahead of him.

"I'm coming!" Deanna called to the infant and entered the kitchen just as Sam threw up.

W

"What's wrong, baby?" Deanna murmured to her infant grandson as the boy cried in her arms, arms waving in the air.

Carrying the child upstairs to the bathroom and took a thermometer from the medicine cabinet and pulled the baby's soiled onsie off. Turning the thermometer on, Deanna carefully placed the end of the device in her grandson's ear and waited to see if he was running a fever.

Sam continued to wail unhappily during the process of having his temperature taken and Deanna cooed to him.

"I know, baby, but I have to make sure you're not sick," she murmured, "We'll do this and then get you into some clean pajamas."

The thermometer beeped but showed no worrying spike in temperature. Deanna frowned and sat the thermometer down on the counter.

Lifting the child under the armpits, she peered at the baby's face, red and wet from crying.

"I wish you could tell me what's wrong," she told Sam before cradling him again and walking to the guest bedroom to get the infant clean clothing.

Laying the child on the twin bed- in the middle so he wouldn't easily roll off and onto the floor- the grandmother found a bright yellow onsie with the picture of a duckling on the left side of the chest and was just about to dress the baby when the familiar smell of bowel movement greeted her nostrils.

Grabbing a clean diaper and wipes, Deanna took her grandson into the bathroom once again.

Laying the infant on the counter beside the sink, Deanna peeled away the soiled diaper to reveal brown liquid.

Sighing, she quickly and carefully cleaned the baby's bottom, frowning at the sight of the rash that still turned healthy pink skin red and irritated.

"I think I have some talcum powder in here," Deanna muttered and, keeping one hand on Sam's chest to prevent him rolling, crouched down and peered into the cupboard under the sink.

"Here it is," she said and grabbed the pink bottle of powder.

"This should make you feel better, Sweetheart," Deanna told the baby as she twisted the cap and sprinkled some of the powder onto his bum and genitalia.

Sam whimpered but seemed to be calming down. He blinked up at his grandmother with heavy-lidded hazel eyes.

"Are you ready for a nap?" Deanna asked as she dressed the boy in a fresh diaper and clean yellow onsie.

The baby gurgled as though in agreement and closed his eyes.

Must have tired himself out with crying, the grandmother thought and once again brought her infant grandson to the guest bedroom.

Standing beside the crib, Deanna rocked the baby until she was certain he was asleep before placing him into it.

Sam sighed and his eyes fluttered for a moment but he remained fast asleep.

Deanna smiled and rubbed her thumb across the thatch of dark hair on the boy's head before turning and leaving the room, the door wide open so she would be able to hear if he woke up.

Returning to the bathroom, she put the thermometer back in the medicine cabinet and then took the soiled onside to the hamper in the closet of the master bedroom.

The ringing of the doorbell broke the quiet in the house and Deanna hurried downstairs so whoever was there wouldn't wake up her grandson.

Pulling open the door, she smiled at the sight of her next-door-neighbour and best friend, Joyce Kleinberg. Although Joyce was about ten years older than Deanna, she was as spry as ever and quick-witted.

The older woman grinned and held up a bottle of red wine. Deanna opened the door for her friend.

"How are you doing, Dee?" Joyce asked and hugged her. Joyce hadn't gone to the funeral but she had popped in during the reception with a casserole.

"I would have come sooner but I wanted to give you and Samuel some time," Joyce continued and the younger woman waved her statement away.

"It's fine, Joyce. Don't worry about it."

"How are you two handling it?" Joyce asked, following Deanna into the kitchen.

"Most days I wake up and forget that Mary and John are gone," Deanna told her friend, "Just for a few minutes anyway and then it hits me all over again."

Joyce nodded, "Oh you poor dear."

Deanna smiled though, as she took a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard, "Having Sammy and Dean here help, actually. I think knowing that they need Samuel and I keeps us from completely losing it."

"Speaking of," Joyce said, as her friend searched for a corkscrew, "Where is that husband of yours?"

"Went over to the house with Dean about a half hour ago," Deanna told her, taking the bottle from her and opening it.

Joyce took the glass of wine Deanna offered her, "You let a four-year old go to that house?"

The younger woman looked up sharply.

"Samuel's with him," Deanna told her friend, "He won't let Dean get into trouble."

The two women moved into the living room and sat down beside each other on the couch.

The conversation quickly turned to more mundane topics: what was happening in the city, in the neighbourhood, etc. when the women were interrupted in their chitchat by the scream of a baby.

"Sammy!" Deanna stood up suddenly, terrified at the sound the infant was making and hurried towards the stairs, Joyce racing after her.

"I'm coming Sammy!" Deanna called, her heart pounding in her chest.

Running down the hallway, the grandmother rushed into the guest bedroom and saw the infant lying in the crib as she'd left him, his tiny face tomato red, fat tears leaking from his closed eyes.

Lifting the baby from the crib, Deanna cooed and rubbed his back soothingly.

"It's okay," she murmured, "I've got you. I'm here."

Joyce stepped into the room and sniffed, "What's that smell?"

Deanna looked questioningly at her friend for a moment before recognizing the smell.

"Poor baby," she simpered and grabbed a diaper and wipes from the dresser.

Deanna passed her friend and headed into the bathroom to change her grandson.

Joyce, who had never had children and didn't like them, remained in the hallway, pinching her nose as Deanna undid the straps on the diaper.

"What are we going to do with you?" Deanna asked as she wiped her grandson's bottom, once again slick with brown liquid stool.

The baby continued to cry, extremely upset, and kicked his legs, waved his arms.

A look of concern crossed Deanna's face and her brows knitted together. Something was not right; the crying, the diarrhea, the spit up; it all didn't add up to a healthy baby.

Although it had been almost a week since the fire, Deanna wondered if her grandson was feeling stress and anxiety because of it. Dean seemed to be doing all right but then again, the fire hadn't started in his room.

No, it was something else, Deanna thought, something that caused excessive crying, liquid stools and vomiting…

"I'm so stupid!" she snapped at herself, startling the baby who only started to cry harder.

Putting the clean diaper on the infant and dressing him once again in his onside, Deanna knew what the culprit was.

"Dee, are you okay?" Joyce asked from the hallway.

"I need to take my grandson to the doctor," she told her friend and picked up the infant.

"Is something wrong?" the older woman asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"I've been an idiot," Deanna told her, "It's his formula and I didn't even realize it."

Joyce just nodded; having no idea what her friend was talking about.

Just as Deanna was making her way down the stairs, the front door opened and Samuel stepped into the house, Dean right behind him.

"Good," the grandmother said, "I need the car."

Samuel stared at his wife for a moment, "Well hello to you too."

"I have to take Sammy to the doctor," Deanna explained.

"I'm coming too!" Dean piped up instantly, holding his hands up for his baby brother.

His grandmother handed him his sibling so she could put her coat on.

"Hi Joyce," Samuel greeted his wife's friend.

The older woman acknowledged her friend's husband before she walked out the door following Deanna and her grandsons.

The hunter sighed and stepped into the living room, his gaze going to the two wine glasses lying in pieces on the floor, red wine staining the carpet.

W

As Deanna drove, her four-year old grandson tried to comfort his brother by making silly sounds and faces.

Nothing Dean did helped ease his sibling's discomfort and the baby continued crying.

The grandmother held the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, berating herself for not realizing Sam's symptoms were a result of his sudden switch to formula from breast milk after Mary's death.

Deanna felt tears prick the corners of her eyes but she forced herself not to break down.

Just get Sammy in to see the doctor and everything will be all right, she told herself.

W

The waiting room for the doctor's office was crowded. Deanna went right up to the lady at the reception desk and asked to see Sammy's pediatrician as soon as possible.

"It's an emergency," she told the woman, and the lady looked as though she believed Deanna; Sammy was still crying, his face beet red and splotchy.

"Dean, why don't you play with some of those toys while we wait?" the grandmother asked as she took a seat on a green plastic chair with her younger grandson.

The four-year old looked over at the small collection of toys in the corner of the waiting room and shook his head.

"Is Sammy gonna be okay, Grandma?"

"Yes," Deanna told him, "He just needs to see Dr. Harvey."

"Is Sammy gonna get a needle?"

Deanna shook her head, "I don't think so, Dean."

The little boy nodded, "Good. Sammy doesn't like needles."

Despite the fact that they were definitely not the only people in the waiting room, when Dr. Albert Harvey appeared next, he called on Deanna and her grandsons right away.

"I'm sorry to come without an appointment," Deanna told the doctor- a man in his late sixties though he refused to quit practicing medicine- as she and Dean followed him down the short hallway to his office.

"It's all right, Deanna," Dr. Harvey told her.

Closing the door after them, the old doctor turned and took Sam from his grandmother.

"I heard about what happened to Mary and John," he told Deanna, "A damn shame, a damn shame."

The woman nodded and sniffed. Dr. Harvey had been a pediatrician for so long, he had actually been Mary's doctor when she was a little girl.

"And how are you doing, young man?" Dr. Harvey asked Dean.

The four-year old smiled at the doctor.

"Good, sir," he replied, "But Sammy's sick or something."

"Well, he certainly isn't too happy, is he?" Dr. Harvey said and brought the younger Winchester over to the scale so he could weigh the baby.

"Now, what seems to be troubling the little fellow?" the doctor asked as he laid the baby on the scale and watched the small arrow swing around for a moment before settling on a number.

"Sammy's been having very loose bowel movements," Deanna told the doctor, "diarrhea most of the time. He's been crying much more than normal as well. And today he threw up. I'm not sure but could it be the formula? Did the sudden change from breast milk to powdered milk do this?"

"Hmm," the doctor stroked his naked chin for a moment before lifting the baby up from the scale.

"He's lost some weight," Dr. Harvey said and Deanna's eyes widened in shock and fear.

"Only about a pound and a half," the pediatrician said quickly, "But on an infant, no weight loss is good."

"And you're thinking is correct," he continued, "It could be the formula making him sick."

"Is there anything we can do?" Deanna asked.

"Normally, a mother will introduce her infant to formula gradually if she wants to stop breast feeding, which allows time to notice any sensitivities or allergies in the baby. Since Sammy here didn't get the chance to slowly wean off of breast milk onto formula, I'd say that's what it seems like, though sometimes even after a slow transition allergies and reactions can still occur."

"I would try him on some formula designed for lactose sensitivity and see if that helps," Dr. Harvey told Deanna, "Or even a soy-based formula with no lactose in it at all. Since the reaction he is having may be a result of the cow's milk used to make the formula."

Deanna nodded, "Thank you, Dr. Harvey. I thought I was being a bad grandparent when I didn't realize right away something was wrong."

The old doctor shook his head and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "It's been a trying week for you; for all of your family. I'm just glad you brought Sammy in when you did and didn't wait any longer. If you had, you may have been coming into the emergency room instead of my office."

Deanna nodded tearfully, hugging her youngest grandson to her chest.

"Watch his fluid intake," Dr. Harvey told her, "And call me if there isn't any improvement or if it gets worse."

"I will," she promised.

Glancing down, Deanna used her free hand to guide Dean towards the door.

Dr. Harvey opened the door for them and the small family left the office.

"C'mon Dean," the grandmother said, "Let's go and get Sammy some good formula."

W

Deanna felt somewhat better after hearing what Dr. Harvey had to say. She still felt bad that she hadn't taken Sammy into see him sooner but now that she had, she felt certain the infant's health would improve.

After a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up new formula, the three were on their way home. Sammy, still somewhat upset, whimpered from his car seat but his cries were not as forceful as they had been.

"Did your grandfather bring some toys home, Dean?" Deanna asked the four-year old, now that she wasn't so worried about her youngest grandson.

"Yeah!" Dean replied, smiling, "I got some more cars and action guys and my teddy bear."

Deanna returned the smile, "That's good."

"We couldn't get any of Sammy's toys," Dean continued, now not smiling, "They were all ruined."

Deanna frowned, "I'm sure there are some around the house, maybe in the living room?"

The little boy shrugged.

"Sammy's room doesn't look nice anymore," Dean muttered, "It's all black and icky. It looks scary."

The grandmother narrowed her eyes slightly; she had told Samuel not to let Dean see anything that might frighten him.

"It's just from the fire, Sweetheart," Deanna told her grandson, "And the water the firefighters used."

The four-year old didn't reply and Deanna didn't say anything else.

A few minutes later they pulled into the driveway and Deanna turned the car's engine off.

"Can you get Sammy's formula and I'll get your brother?" Deanna asked and Dean nodded, picking up the plastic grocery bag that held two cans of powdered baby formula- one for sensitivity and one soy-based- as his grandmother took the infant from his car seat.

Making her way up the walkway, Deanna was about to open the door when Samuel beat her to it, standing to one side so that his wife and grandsons could come inside.

"How did it go?" he asked, looking at the baby in his wife's arms.

"Dr. Harvey suggested changing Sammy's formula," Deanna explained, "To see if that helps. He thinks Sammy might be allergic to the lactose in it."

Samuel nodded and took the plastic grocery bag from Dean.

"Dean, honey, why don't you go play with some of the toys your grandfather brought?" Deanna asked before calling out to her husband, "You brought Dean's toys inside?"

"They're in the den!" Samuel replied from the kitchen.

"Can I bring Sammy?" the four-year old asked and held out his hands for his brother.

"All right," Deanna said and handed the baby over to his sibling.

Sammy burbled happily and waved his arms.

"Just be careful you don't give him anything too small he can put in his mouth," Deanna cautioned the four-year old.

"I won't, Grandma," the little boy replied in a way that told Deanna he was used to playing with his infant brother and wouldn't dream of giving him anything he could swallow.

Walking into the kitchen, Deanna found Samuel filling up the kettle with water.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked her and she nodded, "That'd be nice."

Instead of sitting at the kitchen table, Deanna remained standing, close to her husband.

"Samuel," she began, her tone accusatory, "I thought I told you not to let Dean see anything that might frighten him."

Her husband looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah?"

Deanna frowned, "Dean told me he saw the nursery."

Samuel didn't respond. Instead he grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard.

"Why did you let him see that room?" Deanna asked.

"The door was wide open, Dee," Samuel told her, "There was no way I would have been able to prevent him from seeing inside."

"You could have left him downstairs," Deanna replied, "He's four, he could have been fine by himself for a little while."

"He's fine," Samuel told her, "Besides, he wanted to see it. What was I supposed to say 'no'?"

"Yes!" Deanna snapped, "He's only four! He shouldn't have to see the place where his mother and father died!"

"At his age Mary had seen her first werewolf, shot her first gun," Samuel retorted.

"Dean is not Mary!" Deanna snapped, "He's not a hunter! He's a little boy!"

"I don't know why you're getting so upset about this, Dee," her husband replied, sounding exasperated.

Deanna crossed her arms over her chest, "Fine, Samuel, if you think he'll be okay, then you get to deal with it if he has nightmares."

"He won't have nightmares!" Samuel insisted, "By this evening he'll have forgotten all about it."

His wife just shook her head.

Glancing at the counter, Deanna frowned when she saw a brown paper bag sitting beside the sink.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Wine glasses," Samuel replied and lifted the kettle when it began to whistle, "They were broken in the living room. Got wine all over the carpet."

"Oh," Deanna muttered, "Must have knocked them over when I rushed to get Sammy."

SPN

The sound of crying drew Samuel reluctantly from sleep. Opening his eyes groggily, he reached out hand shook Deanna's shoulder, "Baby's crying."

His wife woke up and lifted her head from the pillow, listening.

"That's not Sammy," she muttered, "That's Dean."

Samuel groaned.

"I told you he'd have nightmares."

Samuel closed his eyes again.

"Go comfort your grandson."

Sighing, the hunter sat up in bed and ran a hand over his bald head.

"Fine," he grumbled and stood, grabbing his housecoat from the end of the bed as he walked out of the room.

Making his way down the hall to the guest room where his grandsons were, Samuel shuffled his feet, growling to himself.

Pushing the door open, he saw that Dean was sitting up in bed, blanket pulled up to his chin, crying.

"What's wrong?" Samuel asked.

"I had a bad dream, Grandpa!" Dean wailed and held his hands out to be picked up.

Samuel sat down on the edge of the bed and the four-year old crawled into his lap.

After a moment, the hunter hugged the child.

"I want Mommy and Daddy," Dean murmured, thumb stuck into his mouth.

Samuel nodded and patted the child's back awkwardly.

SPN

The next morning when Samuel announced he was going back over to Mary and John's house, Dean didn't ask to go with him.

The four-year old sat quietly at the kitchen table, stirring his bowl of Cheerios without eating them.

"Dean, honey, are you okay?" his grandmother asked and the four-year old nodded.

Deanna frowned but didn't say anything else. She continued to feed Sammy his morning bottle of formula.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Samuel said and Deanna nodded, still angry with her husband.

Sammy pulled his mouth away from his bottle and giggled, waving his arms.

"Is that better on your tummy?" Deanna asked the baby, noticing how he seemed much happier this morning.

"Grandma, can I go watch TV?" Dean asked.

The grandmother saw that the little boy hadn't touched his cereal at all.

"Okay," Deanna replied, "You go ahead."

Sliding off his chair, the four-year old left the kitchen.

Once Sammy was finished with his bottle, Deanna picked the infant up, patting his back to help him burp and walked into the den to find Dean sitting on the couch, watching cartoons.

"Dean? Are you thinking about the bad dream you had last night?" she asked as she sat down beside the four-year old.

"No," he replied quickly then paused, "Yeah."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Deanna asked but the little boy shook his head.

"What can I do to help?"

Dean shrugged, staring at the television screen.

"Would a night-light help?" Deanna suggested and after a moment's thought, Dean nodded, "Yeah."

"Okay," the grandmother replied, "I think I have some extra ones upstairs in the bathroom cupboard."

"Can I pick the one I want?" Dean asked and his grandmother smiled, "Sure you can."

SPN

Dean smiled at the blue, crescent moon-shaped night-light plugged into the wall socket beside his bed. His Grandma had told him that the nightmares would be scared of the light and wouldn't come into the room anymore.

The four-year old felt much safer knowing that the nightmares wouldn't come back and he was sure Sammy felt the same.

"Goodnight Sammy," the older brother muttered before he closed his eyes and fell into an easy sleep.

SPN

Sammy opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. For a brief moment his tiny heart began to pound in fear but then a familiar face appeared above his, the figure's wavy blonde hair and kind blue eyes comforting.

The infant cried out happily, arms waving and legs kicking.

His mother smiled and bent down to kiss him on the forehead.

"Goodnight Sammy," she whispered gently before vanishing.

Beside the crib, the rocking chair began to move forward and backward, forwards and backwards, as though a ghostly visitor was sitting in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Neil Young song.  
> Please take a moment to leave a Comment or Kudos!


	6. From Now On

Deanna Campbell peered into the guest bedroom where her grandsons were. Standing in the doorway, she saw that both children were fast asleep, Dean's angelic face awash with the blue glow of the moon-shaped light plugged into the wall. Nestled in his crib, Sammy lay on his back, tiny chest rising and falling with even breaths.

Smiling tenderly, Deanna retreated back down the hallway towards the room she shared with her husband. Stepping quietly into her bedroom, the grandmother sighed at the familiar sound of Samuel snoring before she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"You up?" Deanna startled slightly as her husband whispered to her loudly from his side of the bed.

"I was just checking on the boys."

"Hm," Samuel muttered and the mattress shuddered as he changed position, the sound of his snoring once again filling the small bedroom.

After a moment Deanna lay down beside her husband and closed her eyes.

W

"Samuel, can you get the boys up?" Deanna asked her husband the next morning as she worked at the stove, cooking pancakes, something she hadn't done since Mary was still living at home. Normally she and Samuel ate cereal or toast for breakfast, quick items to fix in the morning.

Samuel looked up from the newspaper he was reading and peered at his wife as though she had suddenly started speaking Urdu.

"Samuel," Deanna frowned, "I'm busy, please go get the boys."

Sighing as though the thought of bringing his grandsons into the kitchen were a Herculean task, Samuel stood, "All right, all right, don't get upset."

"Thank you," Deanna replied and returned her attention back to the pancakes.

SPN

Dean was woken by the weight of a large, warm hand lying on his narrow shoulder. For a brief moment the child thought Daddy before he opened his eyes and saw his grandfather peering down at him.

"Rise and shine, Kiddo," Samuel greeted in a gruff tone.

Dean sat up and blinked, watching as his grandpa moved to the crib where his baby brother still slept. The four-year old watched as the old man looked down at the infant before reaching in and lifting him.

The baby, woken by the movement, whimpered in his grandfather's hold, hazel eyes narrowed.

"C'mon Dean," Samuel said and held the baby away from his body, "Your Grandmother's making pancakes."

"Yay!" the four-year old cried and jumped off the bed, racing down the hallway, "PANCAKES!"

SPN

Deanna looked up just as she was sitting the plate of pancakes on the table to see her oldest grandson dash into the kitchen and slide onto a chair, his face flushed with running and his hair sticking up with bedhead.

"Did your grandpa tell you what we were having for breakfast?" Deanna asked the four-year old with a smile and Dean nodded.

"Can I have maple syrup on mine?" Dean asked, eyeing the pancakes hungrily.

Deanna chuckled and placed a cake on her grandson's plate, pouring golden-yellow syrup on top of it. The four-year old sawed off a large chunk of pancake with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, chewing happily.

The grandmother smiled and looked up as her husband walked into the room with their youngest grandson. Samuel held the baby out at arm's length, the child whimpering and wriggling in his hold, clearly upset.

Standing, Deanna quickly came to the infant's rescue, taking him from her husband and cradling the boy to her chest.

"Don't you remember how to hold a baby?" she asked Samuel.

The hunter muttered something unintelligible and went to pour himself some coffee.

"It's okay, baby," Deanna murmured to the infant, "Why don't I make you a bottle?"

Settling Sammy into his highchair she began preparing a bottle of formula for the infant. Pouring water into the kettle to boil, Deanna turned around to face her elder grandson and husband.

"Why don't we do something fun today?" she asked, "Would you like to go to the park, Dean?"

The four-year old lifted his green eyes to his grandmother; cheeks puffed out like those of a chipmunk and nodded furiously.

"C'n Th'ammy come thoo?" the boy asked as he chewed his mouthful of pancake.

Deanna chuckled, "Of course Sammy can come."

Samuel rustled the newspaper and his wife looked at him, "Why don't you join us?"

Deanna knew that whenever Samuel fiddled with the paper he was reading, be it at the breakfast table or out in the den, it meant he had no intentions of getting involve in the activity that was being discussed. He'd done the same thing when Mary was a child.

"I should go back to the house," Samuel told her without looking away from the newspaper.

Deanna frowned, "It won't kill you to spend some time with your grandsons, you know."

Now the paper lowered and Samuel glowered at his wife.

"We need to get that house cleaned out," he told her, "Fixed up and sold. I'd like to be able to have it on the market by springtime."

Deanna sighed, "I know. It just seems as though you're not really here. I've hardly seen you play with Dean or Sam."

Samuel said nothing for a long moment, then, grudgingly agreed to go to the park with his wife and grandsons.

SPN

As he walked down the street beside Deanna a half-hour later, Samuel wished he'd thought up some excuse to get out of going to the park.

He knew he'd been neglecting his grandsons but the last few days had been hectic, with the funeral and trying to salvage what could be from his daughter and son-in-law's house, and really, the children were the last thing on his mind.

Though he was gruff and somewhat distant, Samuel had never been a bad grandfather. He had been at the hospital the day both Dean and Sammy had been born, waiting outside anxiously with John for his grandsons to enter the world. He bought presents or treats for Dean whenever he and Deanna had visited and he often held Sammy, making silly faces to entertain the baby.

But that had been before the fire. Now Samuel's view of his grandchildren was skewed.

Instead of endearing, Samuel found Dean a nuisance, forever chattering about nothing of importance and asking insipid questions about everything.

Not only that, the four-year old clearly took after his mother in physical appearance more than his father. Dean's light brown hair, green eyes and freckles reminded Samuel painfully of Mary at that same age.

And then there was Sammy.

The infant looked just like any other; pink, chubby-cheeked and cherubic. But beneath that façade of innocence a monster was lurking in wait.

Samuel could barely force himself to hold the tiny killer, well aware of what it had done to his daughter and what it could- and would- do as it grew into its murderous abilities.

The old hunter knew though, that he couldn't keep avoiding his grandchildren- either one of them- or else Deanna would become suspicious and start asking questions he wouldn't be able to answer.

He knew that his wife would never believe him if he told her how their daughter had really died, that it was his secret to bear- his and Sammy's- but the thought of living in the same house as the child went against everything he believed as a hunter.

But Deanna must not know, he reminded himself; she'd never understand.

Gazing over at the four-year old holding onto his grandmother's hand tightly, and then to the infant held securely in her other arm, Samuel smiled, telling himself that if the baby could pretend to be sweet and good, then he could pretend as well… and he had a lot more practice in acting than the six-month old did. He decided he could wait- lay in wait- and see just how the baby's powers grew, certain that if drastic measures needed to be taken, he would be able to make Sammy's death look like a tragic accident.

"What's so funny?" Deanna asked, looking over at her husband.

"Nothing," Samuel told her and his wife shrugged.

He would suffer his youngest grandson but he would harden his heart to the boy, the love he had had for the child dashed the moment he'd come to the realization that he was the cause of Mary's death.

I know what you did, Samuel thought, directing that thought to the infant in his wife's arms; I know what you really are. You may be fooling everyone else but you are not fooling me.

As though Sammy could hear his grandfather's thoughts, he whimpered and squirmed.

"Are you cold, baby?" Deanna muttered and released her older grandson's hand to press a palm to the infant's cheek.

"You're all right," she murmured and lifted the child with both hands to nuzzle her nose to his, causing him to squeal with laughter.

They were now only a few feet away from the park and Dean began to grow excited. He tugged on Deanna's hand and begged her to walk faster.

"All right, Dean," the grandmother laughed at the little boy's enthusiasm, "Why don't you run on ahead? We'll catch up with you."

The four-year old's eyes widened with glee and he sprinted towards the park as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Deanna chuckled and hugged Sammy, the baby babbling happily.

Samuel looked away from his wife and turned his hunter-trained eye on his elder grandson. Dean was racing across the sandbox towards the slide, climbing quickly up the side of the jungle gym equipment that also contained monkey bars, a metal pole to slide down, multicoloured plastic tubes to crawl through and a child-friendly 'rock climbing' wall with oblong blobs of plastic at convenient hand- and foothold positions for youngsters.

Aside from the jungle gym there was a row of swings, both for older children and infants, riding toys designed as horses in primary colours set on heavy metal springs driven into the sand, a teeter-totter and a merry-go-round.

"Grandma! Grandpa! Watch me!" The four-year old called from the top of the slide as Samuel and Deanna reached the park and sat down on one of the benches positioned on the outside of the sandbox.

Still early in the morning, the Campbells and their grandsons were the only ones at the park.

Deanna waved to Dean to let him know they were watching. The little boy grinned and slid down the slide, arms held in the air as he did so.

Samuel watched his eldest grandson run to the 'rock climbing' wall and then ride the slide over and over again before the boy ran over.

"Grandma, come play with me," Dean said, breathing heavily but smiling.

"Oh, I don't know," Deanna hesitated and looked at her husband.

"Why don't you play with your Grandpa?"

"No, Grandma! I want you to play with me! Please," the four-year old begged and Deanna stood, handing Sammy over to Samuel.

The old hunter took the infant carefully in his arms, making sure to hold the child properly so he wouldn't become upset; Sammy's head nestled in the crook of his arm.

As Deanna and Dean hurried away to play on the jungle gym, Samuel peered down at his younger grandson.

Sammy, at six months old, still had round, apple-red cheeks, button nose, and bow mouth of a newborn. His eyes had darkened over the days and weeks to a nutty brown colour flecked with green. A thick thatch of nearly black hair covered his head and fluttered slightly in the cool wind blowing through the park.

In a few more months the infant's face would thin, his chubby limbs turn lean and more muscular as he transitioned from crawling to walking. His gurgling and 'baby talk' would transform into more recognizable words as his vocabulary grew. As his teeth came through he would be able to eat an increasing assortment of foods, soft cheese, rice, fruit and vegetables and meat and his palate would develop.

It felt strange to Samuel to think of raising an infant once again. Dean, already four-years old; potty trained, with his own likes and dislikes, a wide array of words and the ability to run, walk, jump and climb with exuberance, was not as dependent on his grandparents as the infant was. Dean no longer needed to learn independent locomotion, toileting, or how to speak. Unlike his baby brother. Sammy, so young, so vulnerable, would be helpless without an adult to take care of him.

Samuel narrowed his gaze at the infant. The baby peered up at him and waved his chubby fists in the air, gurgling.

You are clever, aren't you? The hunter thought. Pretending to be a little baby to hide the darkness that's growing inside you.

Samuel lifted the baby under the arms and dandled him in the air over his lap. For a moment, Sammy's mouth trembled but then he let out a giggle and kicked his legs happily.

SPN

Deanna breathed deeply as she followed Dean up the climbing wall and onto the platform at the top of the jungle gym. It had been a long time since she'd been so active but she hadn't felt as alive either.

When Mary had been little, in the brief times when she had been able to be a child, Deanna would engage in active play with her daughter. They would skip rope, play hopscotch, climb trees, and hide-and-seek until Samuel dragged her away to go hunting monsters again.

But of course, Deanna had been a lot younger then.

Now, though she was older, the grandmother relished the chance to play uninterrupted with her grandson. Dean was never going to be spirited away by his grandfather to go raid a nest of vampires or track down a werewolf. Dean was going to get to be a child because he was a child. And Deanna wasn't about to miss out on the opportunity to be a part of her grandson's childhood.

Standing up at the top of the platform, Deanna peered over at her husband and saw Samuel playing with their infant grandson. Deanna smiled before turning her attention back to the four-year old.

"C'mon Grandma!" Dean called, already sitting at the top of the slide and waving wildly to her, "C'mon!"

Deanna smiled and sat down behind her grandson, ready for another round of play with the boy.

W

Deanna leaned down and kissed her youngest grandson's brow as he lay in his crib, his eyes already slipping shut and his breathing even.

In the guest bed, his brother was already fast asleep, exhausted from having fun at the park.

After a quick lunch of peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich for the elder and a bottle of formula for the younger, the two Winchester brothers succumbed to the embrace of sleep.

The grandmother stepped quietly from the room, leaving the door ajar and walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Her husband was sitting at the table, finishing his newspaper and munching away at his own sandwich.

"Would you like some tea?" Deanna asked and Samuel shook his head.

While she set the kettle full of water on the stove to boil, Deanna sat down at the table across from her husband.

"It was good to see you with Sammy today at the park," she said lightly, "Acting like you used to before."

Samuel lowered the paper.

"I guess I've just been taking it harder than I thought," he told her, "They both died so suddenly."

Deanna nodded and stood as the kettle began to whistle, announcing that the water inside had boiled.

"I know," she said, "But Sammy and Dean really are the last bit of Mary and John we have. We can't forget that. We have to embrace that."

Samuel nodded, "You're right, De. It just took me a bit longer to realize that than you."

Bringing her cup of tea back to the table, the woman sat down and smiled at her husband. The past couple of weeks had been difficult for both of them but now they finally seemed to be on the same page.

Deanna lifted her gaze to her husband's face, taking in his icy blue eyes and thin-lipped mouth set into a neutral line. Reaching out, she took a hold of his hand gripping the side of the newspaper.

"From now on we can't forget that those little boys are a part of Mary," she said quietly, almost whispering, her warm brown eyes filling with hot tears, "From now on we have to always treat them like that."

Samuel released his hold on the newspaper and twined his fingers with his wife's, returning her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by Basia Bulat.  
> The next chapters will take place when some time has passed. Dean is 14 and Sammy is 10.  
> Please take a moment to leave Kudos or a Comment!


	7. The Sun Will Shine On You

Deanna Campbell woke slowly.

For a long time she simply lay in bed, with the sound of her husband's snoring in one ear and the chirping of birds and squirrels in the other. All else was quiet.

Coming to consciousness reluctantly, Deanna sighed and lifted her arm to cover her eyes. Beside her, Samuel let out a snort and began moving as though he too, were waking up.

Without moving her arm from over her eyes, Deanna asked her mate what time it was.

"Seven forty-five," Samuel muttered and Deanna groaned.

"When did you get back to bed?" He asked her.

"Around six thirty," She replied tiredly.

"We have to do something about that boy," her husband told her moodily.

Deanna was about to respond when she felt one of Samuel's large, calloused hands on her arm, slowly drawing it away from her face.

"It's not his fault," Deanna told her husband, opening her eyes and peering at him.

Samuel said nothing but leaned over and kissed his wife, sitting up after he did so.

"Might as well get up," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Deanna continued to lie in bed.

"Do you think it's the daycare?" she asked as Samuel stood and stretched, his tendons popping loudly as he did so, reminding them both that he was no longer a young man.

"De," Samuel turned his head to look at her, "He goes to that daycare twice a week and that's only to give you a break."

Deanna nodded, "I know."

"If you're really worried about it," her husband continued as he pulled on a pair of blue jeans, "Than keep him home for a while and see if that helps."

From the tone of his voice, Samuel's wife could tell that he didn't really want to be having this conversation.

"I'll think about it," Deanna replied and sat up, running her fingers through her dark blonde hair for a moment.

Samuel shrugged in a 'whatever you think is best' kind of gesture and continued dressing.

Deanna waited until her husband left the room, to wake their eldest grandson so he could get ready for school, before she stood and began getting ready for the day.

Picking out a pair of tan slacks and a yellow blouse, Deanna sat down on the padded stool in front of the vanity that her husband had bought her for their second wedding anniversary. She continued to comb her hair idly with her fingers as she peered into the mirror, noticing webs of new creases at the corners of her mouth that hadn't been there before and the dark circles beneath her eyes that seemed to have appeared overnight.

"You're getting old, De," she muttered to herself, "And raising your grandsons is only making it happen faster."

Voices could be heard from the hallway, just a few feet from the master bedroom; Samuel and Dean were having a conversation.

Deanna smiled and told herself that she wouldn't give up raising her grandsons for anything.

W

Dressing quickly, Deanna made her way down the hallway to the guest bedroom that was now called the boys' room. Her husband had left the door ajar and Deanna opened it slightly, peering inside to find her younger grandson curled up on his small bed, thumb wedged firmly in his mouth.

Deciding to let the three-year old sleep a little while longer, the grandmother left the door open halfway and walked quietly downstairs.

Dean and Samuel were in the kitchen. Samuel was making coffee and the seven-year old was eating a bowl of Honeycomb cereal.

"Hi, Gwandthma!" Dean greeted through a mouthful of cereal.

Deanna smiled at the boy and bade him a good morning.

"Do you want coffee or tea?" Samuel asked his wife as the sound of the coffee maker bubbled quietly in the background.

"Tea," Deanna replied as Samuel took a mug from the cupboard.

Sitting down at the table across from her grandson, Deanna watched idly as her husband ran water from the kitchen tap into the kettle before setting it on a burner to boil.

Turning her gaze from her husband, the grandmother looked to the seven-year old munching away at his breakfast. Dean looked as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever. Ever since they had put that nightlight in the bedroom back when the boys had first come to live with them, Dean hadn't seemed to have had a single nightmare and always slept throughout the night without fail. Nothing would wake him; not the sounds of his brother coughing when he was sick or crying if he was scared. It was amazing really, and most days the grandmother was glad she didn't have two sleep-deprived children on her hands.

Deanna was drawn away from her musings when her husband placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her.

"Thank you," she murmured and wrapped her fingers around the warm mug.

"You feeling alright?" Samuel asked, silver eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

"Just tired," she smiled and told him.

Samuel nodded and poured himself a mug of coffee before sitting down at the table as well.

Deanna reached out and put a hand on her mate's shoulder when a thin, wailing cry sounded from upstairs and her head snapped up at the sound.

"I'll get it," the old hunter assured his wife and stood, setting his cup of coffee on the table and making his way towards the staircase.

"Is Sammy okay?" Dean asked his grandmother, green eyes filled with concern.

Deanna smiled, "He'll be fine, Sweetheart; he's just had a nightmare I think."

The seven-year old peered at her for a moment longer but the sounds of his brother's crying had stopped so he continued to eat his cereal without another word.

SPN

Samuel made his way slowly up the stairs, listening to his three-year old grandson's plaintive cries.

This was getting out of hand.

It seemed as though every time the boy closed his eyes he'd wake up screaming, plagued by night terrors.

Samuel scoffed; night terrors. He'd never heard of such a thing, certainly it was a made up problem so doctors could explain away normal childhood development.

But that thing wasn't really a child, now was it?

The hunter pushed open the bedroom door all the way and saw his grandson sitting up in bed, blanket wrapped around him, face tearstained and red.

"Paw," Sammy cried out his name for Samuel and reached out.

The hunter stepped into the room and closed the door but moved no closer to his grandchild.

"Paw," the three-year old spoke again, sniffing back a string of snot dangling from his nose.

"You're fine," Samuel grumbled, "Stop blubbering."

The boy whimpered for a moment longer but then wiped his face against his sleeve, sniffing as he did so.

As he waited for the boy to get a hold of himself, Samuel grabbed some clothes from the child's dresser and dropped them on the bed.

"Hurry up and get dressed," Samuel demanded, "I have to take Dean to school."

The three-year old slid out of the bed and proceeded to get dressed, pushing his pajama pants down to his ankles before stepping out of them and pulling on the small pair of blue jeans his grandfather had grabbed. Not yet competent of fine motor skills, the boy left the jeans unzipped and unbuttoned, opting to pulling his pajama shirt up over his head.

The three-year old glanced at the yellow t-shirt Samuel had picked up from the drawer and frowned.

"Don't wanna wear that one," he told his grandfather.

Samuel reached out and pulled open the dresser drawer to reveal all of Sam's t-shirts, "Pick one then."

Digging through the collection, the boy found a green t-shirt with the picture of a triceratops skeleton on the front.

"This one!" Sammy held the shirt up triumphantly but Samuel didn't react.

The boy quickly pulled the shirt on and waited for his grandfather to open the bedroom door.

For a moment Samuel didn't move. He remained in front of the door, peering down at his younger grandson.

Sammy moved from foot to foot nervously, looking down at his toes before the hunter sighed and opened the door.

The boy followed the man out into the hallway and down the stairs, holding onto the railing for balance as he carefully went down the steps.

"Nana!" Sammy cried when he saw Deanna in the kitchen and ran to her for a hug.

The grandmother picked him up right away and kissed his cheek, "How's my baby?"

Sammy giggled, "Not a baby, Nana."

Deanna smiled at him, "No you're not; you're getting to be a big boy."

Setting the child down, the grandmother fixed his trousers while he waited.

"Let me get you a bowl of cereal," Deanna said as she stood up and Sam climbed onto her chair.

The three-year old grinned and swung his feet back and forth as he waited patiently.

"Are you almost finished, Dean?" Samuel asked and the older boy nodded, lifting his bowl to slurp the last of his milk.

"I'm taking Dean to school," the boys' grandfather announced, "I'll be back in a bit."

"Drive safely," Deanna told him, turning around to kiss her husband and elder grandson, "And you have a good day at school."

"Thanks," Dean said, "Bye Sammy, see you later."

The three-year old waved his hand at his brother and watched as he and their grandfather disappeared into the front foyer.

"Here you go," Deanna set a bowl of Honeycomb cereal down in front of Sam and picked up her cup of tea.

W

As the three-year old ate his breakfast, his grandmother called the home daycare the boy usually went to and informed them that Sam wouldn't be coming in for a few days.

Hanging up the kitchen phone, Deanna felt she had made the right decision to keep Sam home.

"M'gonna see Missy?" Sammy asked when his grandmother turned around, inquiring about the lady who ran the daycare.

Deanna shook her head but smiled, "You're going to stay home today and play with me, okay?"

Sammy smiled and shoved a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

W

Once her grandson had finished his breakfast, Deanna took the boy upstairs so that he could brush his teeth, comb his hair and wash his face.

She had been thinking about what she could do with the three-year old and just as she spotted the plastic farm animals Sam liked to play with in the bathtub Deanna had an idea.

"Would you like to go to the petting zoo today, Sam?"

The little boy, brushing his teeth, peered at his grandmother curiously and smiled with lips smeared with toothpaste suds.

"Yeah!" he cried and Deanna smiled.

"We'll finish getting ready and when Grandpa gets back we can go," she told the excited little boy.

SPN

Samuel pulled into the driveway of his house and cut the engine to the car. For a moment he remained seated, staring at the front lawn and frowning at how brown the grass was.

Have to water this evening, he thought as he unbuckled his seatbelt, and the gardens too or De will kill me.

Opening the door, the retired hunter climbed from his vehicle and looked up at the sound of the door to the house open and small feet running across the porch.

"We're going to the petting zoo for a little while," Deanna called as she closed the door, smiling at him from the porch.

Their grandson had already made it to the driveway and was tugging on the handle of the rear door.

"It's locked," Samuel muttered to the boy before turning his attention to his wife.

"You sure?"

Deanna, stepped forward, frowned, "Why wouldn't I be sure?"

Her husband shrugged and handed her the car keys.

"I just know how busy the boys could be," he told her.

Deanna rolled her eyes, "At home or at the zoo, Sammy's going to be busy. Maybe an outing will help tire him out and help him sleep better tonight."

The hunter nodded; his wife did have a point there.

"Right," he answered, "We'll have fun you two."

Deanna unlocked the back door and helped settle Sammy into his car seat.

"Do you want to come?" she asked, her back to the hunter as she fiddled with the straps for the child's seat.

"I've got some things to take care of around here," Samuel told her, lying, "But you two enjoy yourselves."

Straightening, Deanna smiled and kissed her husband.

"We will," she promised.

"How was Dean when you dropped him off?" she asked, one hand on the rear door. Sam was kicking his feet gently and humming tunelessly.

"Fine," Samuel answered, "Ran off before I could even stop the car."

"He did not," Deanna raised an eyebrow incredulously.

Her husband smiled, "You're right. He waited until we were parked and then he ran off."

Deanna shook her head, "That boy."

"Mary was like that when she was his age," Samuel reminded her, "Don't you remember?"

His wife's smile waned, "I do."

The hunter sighed, "Go to the zoo."

Deanna nodded and smiled. Turning to their youngest grandson, she spoke, "We're going to have a great day, right Sammy?"

"Right!" the three-year old repeated, grinning from ear to ear.

"We won't be too long," Deanna assured Samuel and closed the rear door and opening the driver's door.

Her husband nodded and took a step back. As his wife was seated, he closed the door for her.

Deanna waved at him and turned on the ignition.

Samuel remained in the driveway as he watched his wife pull away and start down the street.

SPN

Parking the car at the petting zoo ten minutes out of town, Deanna turned in her seat to smile at her youngest grandson.

"We're here!"

The little boy grinned from ear to ear and kicked his feet impatiently.

"Hurry Nana!" he begged, "Wanna feed the animals!"

Chuckling, Deanna climbed out of the driver's seat and moved around to help her grandson from his booster seat.

Sam bounced eagerly in his car seat as his grandmother undid the straps and lifted him out. As she set the child on the ground, she reminded him to stay close and not run off.

The three-year old waited impatiently as Deanna closed the back door and locked it before turning to him and holding out her hand.

"Let's go to the zoo!" she exclaimed and taking her grandson's small hand in hers, started off across the parking lot.

W

Sammy loved animals and he loved the petting zoo. Deanna often wondered if the boy would grow up to be a veterinarian. The look on the little boy's face as they stepped into the pen with a dozen goat kids and piglets melted his grandmother's heart.

There were other young children at the petting zoo, boy and girls around Sam's own age, but the three-year old only had eyes for the animals wandering around the pen.

"Hold out your hand and I'll give you some food for the goats," Deanna told her grandson and Sam eagerly obeyed, holding his palm flat as she poured a small amount from her own hand.

Sam giggled and crouched down, his hazel eyes sparkling as a black and white kid walked over, its ears flopping and pressed its soft nose against his hand as it ate.

Deanna smiled as she watched the three-year old reach out with his free hand and pat the young goat on the head as it ate.

Not too long ago, Dean had loved this place too. But at seven-years old, the older boy no longer found the petting zoo 'cool'.

"Nana!" Sam called, catching the woman's attention, "More food?"

Deanna obliged and poured more feed into the little boy's sticky hand. Keeping one eye on the boy, she watched as Sam took a few cautious steps away, following a piglet as it trotted further into the yard.

"Is he yours?" a young woman holding an infant and keeping a keen watch on a pudgy little boy of around five, asked Deanna.

"My grandson," she answered politely.

"Wish my Mom would look after the kids for a few hours," the younger woman commented in an off-hand manner before she shouted at her son, "Hey! Brody! That's not for you to climb!"

Deanna turned to look at the woman's son and saw that the chubby boy had climbed up onto a bale of hay and had leaped off, almost directly onto a piglet that squealed and ran in the opposite direction.

Searching for her grandson, Deanna relaxed when she caught sight of Sam sitting on the muddy ground beside a goat that was lying on its side. Frowning, the grandmother took a step forward.

"Sammy, are you okay?" she asked and once she had moved close enough, she saw that the small animal's eyes were closed, and its mouth open slightly to reveal a pink tongue.

Oh no, Deanna thought and reached out to pick up her grandson.

"Nana, what's wrong? Sick?" the three-year old peered up at her with wet eyes.

He was gently stroking the animal's side as it took shallow breaths.

Deanna closed her eyes for a moment before squatting down beside the little boy.

"Yes, Sammy," she answered, "The goat's sick."

Brow furrowed, the little boy spoke again, "Gonna get better?"

Deanna sighed, "I don't know, baby."

As she watched, Sammy stroked his hand down the small animal's neck, very gently, before leaning close to it and whispering.

"Come here, Sammy," Deanna reached out and picked up the boy, "We'll let someone know about the goat and then we'll have some lunch, ok?"

The three-year old nodded but kept his gaze on the baby goat, even as they left the pen.

W

Sammy picked at his chicken fingers but didn't eat.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Deanna asked and put her hand on the boy's cheek.

The three-year old, sitting across from her, looked up and had a pensive expression on his face.

"Will he die?"

His grandmother frowned, "Will who die, baby?"

"The goat," the boy answered, glancing down again.

"I… I don't know," Deanna answered, thrown by the child's question.

In response, Sam pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over his chest.

Deanna's frown deepened, concern blooming. At three years old, Sam shouldn't be thinking about life and death. She wondered if Dean had been talking to his brother about what had happened to their parents. Deanna knew that Dean would tell Sammy what John and Mary had bee like while they were alive, but she now wondered if he wasn't telling his little brother about the night of the fire.

"Wanna go home," Sammy muttered and Deanna sighed.

"Okay, hun," she told him, "We'll go home and see Paw, all right?"

SPN

Sam fell asleep on the way home from the zoo and for some reason Deanna felt grateful for that.

Today was meant to be a happy, fun day spent feeding the animals at the zoo and had instead turned miserable.

Pulling into the driveway, Deanna turned off the engine and got out of the car.

Samuel, who was surprisingly, weeding the front garden- something he usually left for his wife- stood and brushed off his pants as he approached.

"Didn't expect you to be home so soon," he told her as Deanna picked a still sleeping grandson from his car seat and closed the rear door.

Seeing his wife's frown, Samuel imitated the expression.

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you inside," Deanna said quietly and headed towards the house.

W

Sitting on the edge of her younger grandson's bed, stroking his chestnut hair, Deanna told her husband what had happened at the petting zoo.

Samuel listened with crossed arms and when she had finished, shook his head.

"What?" Deanna asked, her hackles raised.

"It's not like the boys don't already know about life and death, De," he responded.

Deanna glared at Samuel, "They were only children. Dean was four and Sammy wasn't even a year old yet!"

"They'd have learned about the circle of life or whatever you want to call it, eventually, De," Samuel continued.

"He's only a little boy," his wife simmered, "He doesn't understand."

"Then why make such a fuss? He won't understand. I'll bet by the time he wakes up, he'll have forgotten all about it."

Deanna looked away from her husband and focused on the cherubic face of her three-year old grandson, "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Shaking his head again, Samuel left the room, "I'm in the garden if you need me."

Deanna didn't answer. She didn't speak again until she heard the front door close behind her husband.

Slowly, a song entered her mind, not exactly a lullaby, but it seemed appropriate for the day and Deanna sang it as she would have to her daughter when Mary was a child.

"You got to learn," she began, not really following the pace of the song, drawing it out so that it wouldn't wake her slumbering grandson, "How to cry. Before you fall, how to fall…"

Leaning over, Deanna planted a kiss on Sam's temple before she continued, "You got to turn, from the darkness. And go through it all…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, folks. I had a terrible case of writer's block and just kind of lost interest in the story for a while. I am back on track now, though and should update again soon.
> 
> Nothing much happened in this chapter, maybe some character development, but its mostly filler.
> 
> Please take a moment to leave kudos!


	8. Let Them Be Little

Sam stretched his hand out as far as it would go under his bed, struggling to reach his soccer cleat that had somehow managed to find its way beneath the piece of furniture.

Dean had probably kicked it under there in a fit of anger, Sam thought as his fingers brushed against the nubs of the cleats on the shoe's sole.

"Hurry up or we'll be late again!" Samuel's loud tones flew up the staircase towards the ten-year old and his grandson grumbled in frustration.

"I'm trying," Sam closed his eyes and hooked his finger through one of the laces and dragged the soccer shoe out from beneath the bed.

Heavy, hurrying footsteps preceded his brother's appearance as Dean shoved the bedroom door open.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, "Playing?"

Sam stood up and brushed dust bunnies off his uniform.

"I was getting my shoe," he muttered.

The fourteen-year old rolled his eyes, "Sure, we'll believe you."

Sam looked up at his brother, frowning.

"No one said you had to believe me," he snapped.

"Don't talk to me like that," Dean warned.

Sam sighed and made his way to the doorway, only to be shoved across the threshold by his impatient sibling.

"Don't push me!" Sam cried and stumbled against the railing across the hallway, which was the only thing between him and a drop to the first-floor foyer.

"BOYS!" Samuel shouted from the front entryway, startling both his grandsons and they froze, "Smarten up!"

"Samuel," Deanna said quietly, "there's no need to yell."

Sam went down the staircase first and directly to his grandmother. Deanna reached out and smoothed his hair with one hand, smiling.

"Let's go, we're already late," Samuel interrupted and opened the front door.

W

The drive to the soccer fields was short and uneventful. Sam and Dean, sitting in the backseat, both preferred to cross their arms and look out their windows, the better to not start an argument inadvertently.

Once parked, Samuel opened the trunk and recruited his elder grandson to help him carry lawn chairs and a plastic cooler filled with ice and sodas and snacks.

"Now Dean, remember, we're here to watch Sammy play soccer," Deanna told the fourteen-year old, "I know it's important to him that you support him."

The teenager- who thought it so lame that he was being forced to watch his younger sibling play soccer- scowled, "Whatever."

Sam, excited to be spending the entire day playing soccer- as it was his league's championships- ran ahead of his family to where a group of a dozen boys dressed in the same colour uniforms as his, stood clustered in a group.

"Hey!" Sam called and waved to his friends.

The other boys waved back and he heard one call to the coach, "Sam's here!"

SPN

Dean looked around at all the soccer moms and dads gathered to watch their precious little boys kick a ball around for hours on end with only a cheap plastic trophy to take home at the end of it all.

Setting his lawn chair far enough away from his grandparents so that he couldn't be mistaken for being 'with them' though close enough that they wouldn't get upset, Dean sat down, wondering if there were any cute girls here.

SPN

"We're playing the Yellow Jackets first," Coach Timmons told Sam and his teammates.

The ten-year old cringed. The Yellow Jackets were the best in their age group. They hadn't lost any games the entire season.

"If we're going to beat them," Logan Peters began, "Than Sam should be our goal keeper."

"Me?" Sam's face went bright red. He didn't think he was that good.

"If everyone agrees," Coach Timmons added, "Why not?"

Twelve pairs of eyes turned to the young Winchester boy and Sam nodded, feeling very important.

SPN

"This is so exciting," Deanna gushed and held her husband's hand tightly, "Sam's been talking about this for weeks; I hope his team does well."

Samuel grunted in response.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, suddenly realizing that their eldest grandson was no longer in his lawn chair.

Turning in his seat, Samuel's keen hunter's eyes quickly picked out the fourteen-year old from the crowd. Dean stood a few yards away, talking to a blonde girl about his own age.

"I told him to behave today," Deanna muttered and half-stood from her seat.

Samuel reached out and grabbed his wife's arm, "Let him be, De. The kids haven't even started playing yet."

Eyeing her husband, Deanna did as he asked and sat back down, "I just don't know what's gotten into him lately."

Samuel looked at his wife with a wry expression, "He's fourteen, De. He's a teenager. We were both like that once, or don't you remember? Full of hormones and crazy ideas."

Deanna gave a slight smile and settled into her seat.

"It's just harmless fun," Samuel assured her.

SPN

"All right, team," Coach Timmons announced to the dozen nine, ten and eleven-year old boys circled around him, "Let's beat the Yellow Jackets! One, two, three, Wolves!"

The boys who were on the field first, Sam included, all ran to their designated spots, paused and then waved happily to their parents sitting on the sidelines.

Sam put a hand above his eyes to block out the glare of the sun and waved his free hand at his grandparents sitting side by side in their lawn chairs.

Deanna waved back eagerly, while Samuel gave a little nod.

Sam didn't see his brother but that didn't bother him. Dean really didn't want to be here anyway.

SPN

The fourteen-year old sighed and slumped his shoulders when Melanie, the girl he'd been talking to, stopped and went to sit with her parents to watch her little brother play his soccer game.

"Whatever," Dean muttered and looked around at the gathered crowd, realizing everyone was watching the game.

Slowly, the teenager ambled back to where his grandparents were sitting and dropped into his lawn chair. Raking a hand through his short-cropped hair, Dean couldn't help but smile as he looked up to see his brother expertly bat a speeding soccer ball away from his team's net and prevent the other team from getting a goal.

Encouraged by the positivity around him, Dean clapped and cheered along with everyone with a child- or sibling- on the team called the Wolves.

"Go Sammy! Way to go, little bro!"

Just for a few minutes, Dean Winchester forgot all about being the apathetic, moody fourteen-year old and returned to his roots as Sam's big brother.

SPN

Sam, sitting in the backseat of the car beside his sibling, couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. The day was done and the ten-year old felt like a prince.

His team hadn't won the championship, no, that had gone to the Yellow Jackets, but the Wolves had come in a close second and to the boy that was all that mattered.

SPN

"Why don't we order pizza in tonight?" Deanna asked as the family piled into the front entryway, "To celebrate Sam's win."

"Yeah!" Dean agreed, "Let's get pizza!"

Sam, who was sitting against the wall and tugging his soccer cleats off, grinned, his gaze going to the second-place trophy every boy on his team had been given to commemorate their hard work and dedication to the game.

"I don't see why we should," Samuel commented dourly, "The boy didn't win."

"He got second place, Grandpa," Dean argued, "That's pretty damn good."

"Dean," Deanna interrupted, "Language."

"Samuel," she continued, seeing her younger grandson's face crumple, "Its just pizza."

"If we get pizza now he'll expect it every time, for everything," Samuel argued.

Deanna shook her head. Sam was standing up now, his shoes dangling by his side from their laces.

"No I won't," he argued, "We hardly ever get pizza. Please Paw, just this once."

The old hunter stared at the three pairs of eyes watching his, "Fine, do what you like."

"Yes!" Dean cheered and gave his brother a high five.

"Can we have cheese?" Sam asked, looking to his grandmother.

"No way, we have to have something else on the pizza," Dean made a face, "Plain cheese is gross."

"Why don't we have two mediums?" Deanna suggested, "One just cheese for Sammy and one with topping for the rest of us."

The woman ignored the look her husband was giving her and headed into the kitchen to call for delivery.

"Don't forget to put your cleats away, Sam," she called out to her younger grandson, "And put your uniform in the laundry hamper."

"Okay, Nana," Sam replied and dashed up the stairs, shoes swinging dangerous by their laces.

SPN

Late that night, when their grandsons were fast asleep, Deanna and Samuel sat down on their bed, preparing to settle in.

"I don't know why you spoil that boy," Samuel commented, looking up from the book he was reading.

"Spoil him?" Deanna paused, half her face smeared with cream, "I don't do anything for Sam that I wouldn't do for Dean."

"Oh really?" her husband asked, "I didn't see you giving Dean a celebratory pizza when he was caught drag racing with a bunch of seniors from his high school a month ago. He came in second, did he not?"

"Samuel," Deanna spoke in a warning tone.

"You were the one who wanted to give Dean his father's car for his birthday," she continued, "And I talked you out of it."

"Not until he's sixteen," Samuel muttered grudgingly.

"Because he can't drive it until then anyway!" Deanna interrupted.

"I just think you spoil the boy too much," her husband repeated.

"Sammy has never acted like he's spoiled, has he?" Deanna asked, creaming the other half of her face.

Samuel did not reply right away. To him, spoiling his younger grandson was allowing him to live after what he'd done to Mary and John.

"No," he answered his wife, "No, he doesn't."

"Then there's no argument," Deanna finished smugly, the hit of a smirk on her face.

"Goodnight, De," Samuel set his book aside, took his glasses off and shuffled down the bed until he was laying.

"Goodnight," his wife replied and turned off the bedside lamp on her nightstand.

SPN

Sam lay awake in his bed, staring up at the shadows cross-crossing the ceiling.

In the bed across the room, Dean was snoring and muttering in his sleep, completely content.

It had been years since Sam had had one of his 'night terrors' but something, a sense of fear, had woken the ten-year old and now he could not close his eyes again for the belief that something awful was going to happen.

Sighing, the boy sat up in his bed and glanced around the bedroom. Nothing was out of place; everything was just as it should be.

Twisting at the waist, Sam peered at the new trophy he had earned that day in the soccer championship, moonlight glinting off its fake gold-plated crest, and smiled.

Snuggling back down in bed, the boy finally allowed his eyes to close and within minutes he was once again fast asleep.

SPN

"Where is it?" Dean muttered to himself as he knelt at the side of his bed, one hand shoved up to the shoulder between the mattress and box spring.

The fourteen-year old ground his teeth in frustration and pulled his hand out from beneath his bed, his shirt coated in bits of lint and dust.

As the miffed teenager was standing, his ten-year old brother walked into the room; an easy target.

"Did you take the magazine that was under my bed?" Dean stepped right up to his younger sibling and glared down at him.

Sam craned his neck to peer up at his older brother, a look of confusion etched on his features.

"I didn't take anything," he tried to placate Dean, "I just came in here to get my book."

Dean though was having none of it.

"I know you took it," he snarled, "You saw me putting it under my bed and took it. Where is it? Did you give it to Grandma and Grandpa?"

The younger boy took a step back, bewilderment still making a home on his youthful face, "I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't take anything!"

Dean, his anger getting the better of him, reached out a fist with the reflexes of a striking cobra and grabbed his brother by the front of his shirt.

"Stop it!" Sam cried and pushed at his older sibling.

The fourteen-year old lifted his free hand, curled into a fist and menaced his sibling.

"Sam? Sammy, can you find your book?" Deanna's voice floated up to the boys from the bottom of the stairs.

Dean instantly let go of his brother but glared daggers at the younger boy.

Sam didn't even bother getting the book he'd come into the room to get, he turned and hurried out into the hallway and down the staircase.

"Whatever he tells you he's lying!" Dean shouted from the bedroom and kicked his bed, just for good measure.

SPN

Deanna frowned as she watched Sam dart out of the bedroom and rush down the stairs towards her.

"Sam," she said as soon as he reached the first floor, "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

The boy, whose chestnut hair was flopped into his face, obscuring his green eyes, nodded and passed his grandmother without at word, heading towards the kitchen.

"Couldn't you find the book?" she called, "Will your teacher be okay with that?"

Before Deanna could hear Sam's reply, Dean's irritated voice came down the stairs.

"Whatever he tells you he's lying!"

Raising her eyes to the second floor, Deanna sighed.

"What's going on now?" she muttered in exasperation and followed her younger grandson into the kitchen.

Samuel was sitting at the table, newspaper hiding his face, cup of coffee in front of him.

Sammy was seated in his usual spot, munching slowly on a bowl of cereal he'd poured himself.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Deanna asked the boy, picking up her cup of tea and taking a sip.

The ten-year old shrugged, his gaze on his breakfast.

Moments later, Dean slouched into the room and sat down at the table.

"Do you want to tell me what happened upstairs?" the grandmother asked her moody grandson.

Dean shook his head, "Don't worry about it, Grandma."

Deanna pursed her lips, "If I get another call from the principal today-"

"You won't!" Dean interrupted snarkily.

Samuel's newspaper was lowered and the old hunter narrowed his eyes at the teen.

"Don't talk to your grandmother like that."

"Sorry," Dean muttered.

"Have something to eat before school, Dean," Deanna advised, sipping at her tea, eyeing her elder grandson.

The teenager grabbed a piece of buttered toast from the plate sitting in front of his grandfather and stood.

"I have to go," he announced, antsy.

"Why don't you wait and your grandfather can give you and Sam a ride to school?" Deanna suggested.

The fourteen-year old shook his head, "I'm gonna ride my bike to Chris' and we'll go together."

"Don't make any stops on the way," Samuel warned, "You and Chris go straight to first period."

Dean nodded as he backed out of the kitchen, the piece of toast shoved into his mouth.

Turning, the teenager ran upstairs to grab his backpack, still irritated that the magazine he'd had seemed to have vanished. He was certain his little brother had seen him sneaking a look at it the night before and took it when he wasn't looking.

Stepping into the bedroom he shared with Sam, Dean picked up his backpack where it sat near the door and glanced around the room once more.

There, on his desk, amongst the sport and car magazines, sat the one he'd hidden beneath his mattress.

Heart skipping a beat, Dean snatched the copy of Busty Asian Beauties from his desk, rolled it up and shoved it into his backpack.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Dean decided that maybe Sam hadn't touched the magazine. Maybe he himself had been looking at it at his desk and forgot to put it away.

Thank God his grandparents hadn't seen the thing; he'd be grounded until he was eighteen if Deanna had found it.

Taking a large bite of his piece of toast, the teen slung his backpack over one shoulder and made his way back downstairs.

"You be careful, Dean," his grandmother called from the kitchen- he was too old to give his grandparents a kiss before leaving the house- "And please wear your helmet."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yes, Grandma."

Sliding his feet into his boots, the fourteen-year old ducked out of the house without another word, hurrying around to the side of the building, he picked up his bike and within minutes was riding along the sidewalk to his buddy's.

SPN

It wasn't Deanna's imagination that when the front door closed behind her elder grandson, the younger sighed and seemed to relax.

"Sammy," she cajoled, "Is Dean being mean to you again?"

The ten-year old shrugged, "It's okay, Nana."

Deanna frowned, "Sam, if Dean's bullying you, you know-"

"I'm okay, Nana," Sam insisted, keeping his gaze on his cereal because if he looked up, Deanna would know the truth, "Really."

The old woman shook her head. She didn't know what to do. Sam wouldn't confide in her and if she tried to talk to Dean about it, he'd become all moody and tell her it was none of her business.

"Are you almost ready for Grandpa to drive you to school?" Deanna asked instead.

Sam nodded and slipped out of his chair.

Samuel put down his newspaper, drained the coffee from his mug and stood.

"Won't be long, De," he told her, leaning over and giving her a kiss.

Deanna smiled and watched her husband and young grandson leave the kitchen. As soon as they were out of her sight, her curled lips drooped into a frown.

She didn't know what had gotten into Dean lately. It seemed that as soon as he'd started high school, the boy's personality had done a complete three-sixty. He was nearly always surly, he muttered more than enunciate his words, using language his grandparents didn't condone and worst of all, he picked on his little brother.

Where was the loving, cheeky little boy Deanna had known ten years ago when the siblings had first come to live with them?

Sighing, Deanna stepped out into the hallway, watching as Samuel and Sam put their shoes on.

It was just a phase the fourteen-year old was going through and would end soon enough.

SPN

Sam turned to see his grandmother standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him.

He smiled at her and gave her a little wave.

"Have a good day at school, Hun," she told him.

"Bye Nana," he replied and took his backpack from the hall closet where it was kept.

"Drive safe," Deanna told her husband and Samuel nodded.

The retired hunter opened the door and stepped into the early morning, his grandson following close behind.

Hurrying forward, Sam dashed to the passenger's side of the car and hung on the handle with both hands, waiting for his grandfather to unlock the vehicle.

"Stop that," Samuel growled under his breath, "You'll break it."

Sam stood up and took his hands off the handle, shoving them in the pockets of the hoodie he was wearing over his t-shirt. As soon as he heard the familiar clicking sound of the locks disengaging, he opened the door-carefully- and climbed into the passenger's seat, dropping his backpack onto the floor at his feet.

SPN

"Did you bring it?" Chris asked as soon as Dean pulled into the driveway. His friend had been waiting impatiently for his arrival all morning.

The boy smiled, "Of course I did."

"Sweet," Chris commented, grinning toothily.

Peering over his shoulder, Dean spoke again.

"Let's wait 'til we get to school to look at it though," he suggested, "We can go into the bathroom before classes start."

Chris, who looked about to explode at the prospect of having to wait another ten to fifteen minutes to gaze at the bosoms of well-endowed Asian women, sighed and nodded.

"All right," he agreed, "You're right. My Mom would kill me if she caught us looking at it here."

Dean nodded and headed back onto the sidewalk, his friend following right behind him, and they headed to the city's high school.

SPN

Sam peered out the side window at the kids and their parents walking to elementary school, the number of families increasing as they drove closer to the building.

The inside of the car was silent. Samuel didn't like to listen to the radio and he never spoke to his youngest grandson if he didn't have to. Sammy though, was used to this and knew it was just his grandfather's way.

Pulling his gaze away from the window, the ten-year old suddenly remembered he'd forgotten his book at home.

"My book!" he cried, "Mrs. Leach is going to so mad at me!"

Samuel didn't respond.

"Paw, can we go back so I can get my book?" Sam asked his grandfather.

"You were supposed to get it when your grandmother sent you upstairs," the old man replied.

"But Dean-" Sam stopped, "But I didn't get it."

"That's not my problem," his grandfather answered, "Maybe next time you'll remember your things, won't you?"

Sam's lower lip trembled. If his Nana were driving him, she'd go back for the book.

"Yes," he muttered and peered out the window again.

Mrs. Leach had told the class that they needed to bring a book to do a report on, starting today. Sam had chosen Black Beauty to do his project on after seeing it in the public library and asking his Nana to borrow it. At first she had been reluctant to do so but when Sam kept begging her, she finally gave in. The ten-year old had only read the first chapter of the book but he was already enthralled with the equine characters of Anna Sewell's novel and felt certain his teacher would approve of his choice.

Grandfather and grandson said no more to one another until the car had pulled into the drop-off zone in front of the elementary school. Sam grabbed his backpack, pushed open his door and muttered a 'bye' to the old man before exiting the vehicle and running around to the back of the building where the students waited for the bell to ring and signal the start of the school day.

SPN

Once her husband and grandsons had gone, Deanna made her way back into the kitchen and started cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

Picking up plates, bowls and mugs, she deposited them all on the counter above the dishwasher before opening the door to the machine and pulling the lower rack out.

Frowning, Deanna reached out and pulled a soggy, dripping copy of Black Beauty from inside the dishwasher where it had been shoved between two plates.

"What in the world?" she muttered and shook her head.

Strange things had a habit of happening in the Campbell residents- objects going missing, never to be found again; items moving from one location to another mysteriously; lights, radios and televisions turning on or off by themselves- and almost nothing surprised her anymore. In private, Deanna had asked her husband to check to see if they weren't being haunted- perhaps by their daughter or son-in-law- but Samuel had found nothing out of the ordinary, which meant no ectoplasm, no EMF spikes, no cold spots and was at as much a loss for an explanation as his wife.

Setting the ruined book on the counter, Deanna wiped her hands on her pants, sighing, knowing she'd have to pay for the book- surely not a large sum of money- but dreading the prospect of telling Sammy that his library book had gone through the dishwasher.

The sound of the front door opening brought the grandmother from her thoughts and she called out, "Samuel, is that you?"

"Yeah," her husband replied, then, perhaps noticing the tone of her voice, added, "What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing," Deanna commented, listening to her mate's heavy footsteps as he approached the kitchen, "Just another crazy day in the Campbell household."

Standing in the doorway, Samuel's gaze followed to where his wife was pointing at the disintegrating mess of paper.

"You loaded the dishwasher last night," he said, "Right after dinner."

Deanna nodded, "I know. I didn't see the book in there."

"Which one did it this time?" Samuel asked, not expecting an answer.

His wife shrugged. She knew Sam took care of his things, especially things that weren't really his so she knew he would never have put the book into the dishwasher.

"Dean?" Deanna suggested reluctantly.

She hated thinking of either of her grandsons willfully destroying anything but she had to admit that their eldest was certainly in the rebellious stage of life.

Samuel shook his head, "Maybe it was the Force."

Deanna gave a lopsided smile at the joke. Since their home was ghost-free but bizarre phenomenon continued on and off, they needed to call it something and since it wasn't a spirit, the Force seemed a more appropriate term.

Deciding to blame this latest bit of mischief on the mysterious force, Deanna went about emptying the dishwasher and then refilling it without finding any more books inside.

SPN

Dean and his friend, Chris stood across from one another in the tiny bathroom stall, porno magazine held in eager hands, suspended above the toilet, the teens' heads nearly touching.

"I can't believe you got this," Chris whispered, his gaze eagerly taking in the nude bodies of the models on the magazine's glossy pages.

"Me too," Dean muttered truthfully. He hadn't thought he'd be able to buy the magazine when he saw it in a seedy gas station near the high school. He hadn't dared to think he looked twenty-one but the guy behind the cash register, dark-skinned and wearing a turban, hadn't even asked Dean for identification when he handed over the magazine, a couple of packets of Slim Jims and a grape soda.

Dean turned the page and felt his breath quicken.

"Do you think I could borrow this tonight?" Chris asked.

Before Dean could answer, both boys froze as they heard the door to the bathroom open and the sound of dress shoes hitting the tile floor.

"Shit," Dean whispered under his breath, the blood draining from his face.

The man who had entered the bathroom walked across the room to stand at a urinal, unzip his pants and proceed to relieve himself.

Dean didn't trust himself to look at his friend and kept his gaze directly on the gorgeous South Korean model staring back at him from the pages of the magazine.

The man, a teacher, without a doubt, whistled as he finished relieving himself, made his way to the sink and washed his hands.

C'mon, get out of here, Dean thought; a bead of sweat sliding down his nose to drip onto the page of the magazine.

The groan of the tap being turned off gave the teens some relief, the tapping of footfalls making their way back toward the exit and the creak of the door opening and falling closed, was the greatest sounds Dean and Chris had ever heard.

Letting out a deep breath, Dean grinned, "That was close."

"Tell me about it," his friend muttered.

Rolling up the magazine, Dean held it in one hand and spoke, "Let's look at this later."

"Good idea," Chris agreed and pushed open the door to the stall, pausing as he did so.

"What?" Dean asked but then peered over his friend's arm and saw that they had forgotten about their backpacks beneath the row of sinks.

"Maybe he didn't see them," Dean told Chris.

"Yeah," the other boy commented and stepped out of the stall, crossing the small space and grabbed his backpack by one strap.

Dean did as his friend had and unzipped his backpack, about to put the magazine away when footsteps announced the presence of a third party.

Dean looked up to see Mr. Yates, the principal, step into the room.

"Mr. Winchester," the man, wearing high polished black dress shoes, navy suit, white dress shirt and red tie spoke in a stern, long-suffering tone, "What do you have there?"

Brain fired into overdrive, Dean smiled back at Mr. Yates, "Just something I found in your desk after our last conversation."

The principal did not find the comment amusing and snatched the magazine from the teen. Unrolling it, he glanced at it quickly before rolling it back up and sticking it into the inner pocket of his suit.

"My office. The two of you. Now," he demanded and waited for the fourteen-year olds to walk ahead of him down the hall towards his office.

SPN

"Where's your book for the report, Sam?" Mrs. Leach stood in front of the ten-year old's desk and peered down her nose at him.

Normally, the fifth-grade teacher was a friendly, likeable woman, but when her students disobeyed her, she was a force to be reckoned with, in the eyes of a ten-year old.

"I lost it," Sam muttered, staring down at his desk.

Mrs. Leach did not say anything for a moment and the boy had a spark of false hope that he would not incur her wrath.

He was wrong however.

"Well, Sam," she said slowly, "Your classmates have thirty minutes to work on their book reports but since you don't have your book and are wasting my time and your friends' time, it only seems fair that I waste yours in turn."

Sam peered up at the teacher, frowning, trying to figure out what his punishment was going to be.

"You will spend thirty minutes of your lunch recess writing an essay explaining why you have lost your book," Mrs. Leach told him.

"But that's the whole recess!" Sam gasped.

The kids sitting near him gazing wide-eyed at their teacher, shocked that Sam Winchester, one of the best students, had managed to have such a harsh punishment.

"You should have thought about that before," Mrs. Leach informed him.

"Can't I go to the library and see if they have the book?" Sam asked, not really getting his hopes up.

"No, you cannot," his teacher replied.

"Then what can I do?" Sam asked. Maybe he could work on some homework while everyone else did their book reports.

"You can sit where you are," Mrs. Leach told him, "and think about what you going to write in your essay. Quietly."

Sam lowered his head, his cheeks bright red with shame and embarrassment.

He wasn't the first student to suffer Mrs. Leach's anger- certainly not the first to be punished by her either- but Sam was a good kid, a good student, and hated to be reprimanded by anyone.

Slowly, the boys and girls sitting around him lost interest in his plight and set to work writing up the first part of their book reports, each thanking their mothers for putting their books into their backpacks before school that day.

SPN

Deanna was just about to turn on the television and indulge in her guilty pleasure, the soap opera, The Young and the Restless, when the telephone rang in the kitchen.

"I'll get it!" Samuel called to his wife, as he was closer to the phone than she was.

For the moment, Deanna remained calm, settling into the well-worn couch in the den to watch the programme when her husband let out a curse and called to her again.

"Coming!" she replied and stood up, leaving the television on and made her way to the kitchen.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" she asked Samuel as he returned the phone to its cradle.

"Dean's principal just called," Samuel informed her and Deanna sighed.

"What's he done now?"

"He was caught in the bathroom with his friend, Chris Anderson," her husband explained, "With a pornographic magazine."

"WHAT?!" Deanna exclaimed, "I knew that Anderson boy was-"

"Dean said the magazine is his," Samuel interrupted.

Deanna's face grew hot and red with anger. This was getting out of hand.

"Did you-" she began but Samuel interrupted again, raising both hands in a warding off gesture.

"You know I don't keep stuff like that in the house," he assured his wife, paused, and added to try and lighten the mood, "And if I did, you wouldn't know about it."

Deanna, not amused, punched her husband in the shoulder.

"Do we need to go to the school?" she asked.

Samuel nodded.

"I guess we should-" For the third time, Deanna was interrupted.

"You stay here, De. I'll take care of Dean."

Narrowing her eyes at her husband, Deanna crossed her arms, "Oh yeah?"

Without smiling, Samuel nodded, "This is just something us guys need to sort out."

Still suspicious, his wife pursed her lips, "You do that, Samuel Campbell. But just remember, Dean has me to answer to when he gets home."

The old hunter nodded and cringed. He wouldn't like to be on his wife's bad side and quickly took his leave.

Once her husband was gone, Deanna stared at the phone and shook her head; slowly making her way back to the ten to watch her soap opera but finding she was no longer interested in it.

SPN

Dean sat stiffly across from his principal, his grandfather in the seat beside him.

"He didn't get that thing from our house," Samuel assured Mr. Yates.

"Be that as it may," the principal replied in a haughty tone, "The fact of the matter is, your grandson brought a pornographic magazine onto school property and was showing it to other students."

"Just one student, Mr. Yates," Dean corrected; earning himself a glare from Samuel that told him in no uncertain terms to stop talking.

"Mr. Yates," Samuel spoke up, "I'm sorry for my grandson's brazen actions but boys will be boys, you know. Surely you remember what it was like to be fourteen?"

The principal looked like he had never been fourteen but then he nodded.

"Winchester," he turned his gaze to Dean now, "I'll let you off with a warning this time. But if I see you with this smut again, you're suspended."

Dean nodded, trying not to let out a relieved smile. Despite dodging the bullet with Mr. Yates, he knew he would have to explain himself to his grandmother when he got home.

"You're dismissed," the principal told him, "Go to class."

Dean stood up quickly and without even saying goodbye to his grandfather, left the room before Mr. Yates could change his mind and suspend him.

Once the boy was gone, the atmosphere in the office became lighter.

"Dean's a good kid," Samuel told the principal, "He really is, at heart. He's just rebellious."

Mr. Yates nodded, "I understand. But I still can't have him bringing these kinds of things into my school."

"I completely agree," Samuel said magnanimously, "He will get a lecture from my wife when he gets home."

"Your grandson is a good kid," the principal agreed, "A good student but he just isn't challenged enough. Unfortunately, we don't have the resources to help students like him."

"Just as long as he doesn't end up in juvenile hall," Samuel commented, "Then my wife and I will know we raised him right."

Mr. Yates smiled, stood and shook Samuel's hand before the grandfather left.

Alone in his office, the principal slipped the copy of Busty Asian Beauties into one of his desk drawers and locked it.

SPN

Sam struggled to keep his emotions in check as the sounds of his fellow students playing happily outside filtered through the windows and into the classroom.

He couldn't even turn around to look because Mrs. Leach was in the room, watching him.

The ten-year old sighed and wiped his nose across the sleeve of his hoodie.

SPN

Sitting like a vulture behind her desk, Mrs. Leach smiled. Although considered by many to be a friendly, well-liked and fair educator, she could not stand to be disobeyed by her students, especially by the ones labeled 'bright' as Sam Winchester was.

The boy, who never gave her trouble, would learn his miserable lesson and Mrs. Leach was sure they would never have to repeat it. Unlike some of her less intelligent students who seemed to only make the same mistakes over and over again.

Hearing the boy sniff and seeing his arm move to wipe his nose the fifth-grade teacher spoke up.

"Maybe next time we won't have to do this, will we?" she asked the boy, raising her mug of hot tea to her lips.

SPN

Sam cringed at his teacher's mocking comment and closed his eyes, tears welling up beneath the lids despite his best attempts to stop them.

Suddenly a loud scream cut through the quiet of the classroom and the ten-year old whipped around in his seat to face his teacher.

SPN

Loretta Leach shrieked with pain as her mug of tea was pulled from her fingers and its contents dumped across her chest, scalding her skin.

Her cry was as much from shock as it was from pain and she barely noticed the small boy with chestnut hair and hazel eyes staring at her in horror as the skin on her neck and chest blistered and turned lobster red.

SPN

Samuel and Deanna were just finishing up a light lunch of tomato soup when the telephone rang.

"Don't tell me its Dean's principal again," Deanna warned, already displeased with her elder grandson and not in the mood for anymore nonsense from him.

Her husband answered the phone while she listened intently.

"Yes, this is his grandfather," Samuel answered the person on the other end of the line.

"Really?" he asked after a pause, "Really? Is she all right?"

Samuel listened to the response.

"I see," he muttered, then, "Yes, we'll come get him right away."

Hanging up the phone, he turned to his wife, his expression grim.

"Is it Dean?" Deanna asked.

"Its Sam," Samuel replied, "There's been an accident."

Deanna felt all the blood drain from her face.

"Is he all right? What happened? Where is he?"

Her mate held up his hand, "The boy is fine. His teacher, on the other hand, is on her way to the hospital."

"What happened?" Deanna stood up and went to Samuel's side, one hand reaching out to grad his arm.

"Boy was in detention and his teacher was watching him," Samuel explained, patting his wife's hand as it rested on his arm, "Seems she spilled her tea down her front. Looks like she may have some second degree burns."

"Oh dear," Deanna put her free hand to her throat, "But Sammy's okay?"

Her husband nodded, "Scared, apparently, and shocked. But unhurt."

Deanna let out a breath as though she had been holding it.

"The poor baby," she murmured and released her hold on her husband's arm, "Seeing something like that."

Without waiting for Samuel to respond, Deanna hurried to the front foyer to pull on a light jacket and slip her shoes on.

SPN

As Samuel sat in the nurse's office with his wife and younger grandson, the suspicions he'd had upon first hearing of Mrs. Leach's accident, were confirmed.

Ms. McGuffey, the principal, explained that Sam had been in detention during the lunch break for failing to bring in his book for the report he was supposed to be working on that morning. With only the two of them in the classroom and two very different opinions on what had transpired, the principal gave the Campbells her employee's version of events.

Loretta had been sitting behind her desk, supervising Sam and making sure he completed his detention work as required, when, she had tried to take a drink of her tea, the cup felt as though someone- an invisible force- had ripped the mug from her fingers and turned it upside down, right onto her exposed chest.

Although the teacher was in too much pain to recall the events immediately afterwards, her ten-year old student confirmed that the janitor entered the room upon hearing her screams and called for an ambulance using the classroom phone. The mug that had spilled the tea was sitting neatly on Mrs. Leach's desk, right beside the salad and apple she was to have for lunch.

The ten-year old, frozen with fear and shock, hadn't moved from his desk until the kindly janitor- a Mr. Plutowski- had guided him out of the room and down the hall to the nurse's station before returning to help the injured fifth grade teacher.

"That's what happened, Sammy?" Deanna asked the child; brushing his dark bangs away from his eyes.

The boy nodded, his face pale, eyes bloodshot.

"I'd like to take him home," the grandmother told the principal.

Ms. McGuffey nodded, "Of course."

Samuel, who had said nothing throughout the entire exchange felt as though he were looking at his grandson for the first time.

He knew that the boy had been responsible for the deaths of his parents when he had been only six months old, and that he was the culprit for all the strange- albeit benign occurrences in their house- but as of yet he had not seen the boy actually hurt another person. Until now. He had cruelly scalded his teacher because she had given him detention for forgetting his book.

"When you bring Sam back," the principal said as Deanna took the boy by the hand and prepared to leave, "We'll have a substitute teacher for his class."

The grandmother nodded, "Thank you for understanding, Ms. McGuffey."

The principal gave a small smile.

"You take care," she told them as the small family left the nurse's station and headed down the hall, pausing at Sam's classroom only to gather his coat and backpack.

W

Sam was silent during the car ride home, worrying his grandmother.

Once they were parked in the driveway, Deanna turned in her seat to peer at the boy.

"Sam, honey, are you all right?"

The ten-year old didn't respond.

Samuel exited the vehicle and walked towards the house without a word.

Deanna waited until her grandchild had gotten out of the car before holding her hand out to him, smiling encouragingly.

Gingerly, the boy took his grandmother's hand and allowed himself to be lead into the house as though he were a small child.

Once inside, Sam slipped his feet out of his shoes and hung his jacket up in the closet before turning to Deanna.

"Can I go to my room?"

The grandmother frowned; she didn't really think the child should be alone but nodded.

"Okay Sweetheart," she told him and watched as her grandson walked slowly up the staircase.

Turning to her husband, Deanna spoke to him, "Do you think he'll be all right?"

Samuel shrugged, "How would I know?"

Shaking her head, Deanna took of her coat and boots before heading upstairs herself, walking quickly to the boys' shared bedroom and peering through the open doorway.

Sam was lying on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Sammy," she called, "Honey, can I get you anything?"

For a moment the ten-year old didn't respond but then shook his head.

"Okay," Deanna replied, "Let me know if you'd like anything."

Pulling the door halfway closed, the grandmother went back downstairs.

SPN

Deanna was waiting for Dean as soon as he stepped inside after his grandfather had given him a ride home.

"Hi Grandma," he greeted as though nothing had happened, smiling.

"What were you thinking?!" Deanna snapped, "Where did you get something like that?"

The fourteen-year old shrugged, "Chris and I tried to be careful-"

"I don't care that you were trying to be careful!" Deanna replied angrily, her blue eyes blazing, her lips drawn into thin lines on her face, "You don't bring magazines like that into this house! What if your brother had found it?"

"He'll learn about girls eventually," Dean commented, still cool as a cucumber. His grandmother didn't intimidate him.

"Dean," Samuel spoke warningly.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Dean muttered, "It won't happen again."

"You're right," Deanna replied, "It won't. You're grounded young man. You will only leave your room to eat, use the washroom and go to school."

Dean's eyes widened, "But-"

Deanna shook her head, "I don't want to hear it."

"For how long?" Dean asked, his expression terrified.

"Until next Monday," Deanna replied, "At least."

"This is so unfair!" Dean cried dramatically, looking to his grandfather for some support.

The old man simply shrugged in a 'what do you want me to do?' gesture.

"Now. Dean," Deanna pointed up the stairs, "And don't bug your brother."

"Sam's home?" Dean asked, frowning. Sam's school let out a half-hour after his and his little brother was rarely home first.

"Don't pester him," Deanna repeated.

Realizing his grandmother was really displeased with him and wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of an answer, the fourteen-year old slumped his shoulders and made his way upstairs.

Coming to the bedroom he shared with his sibling, he pushed the door open all the way and was surprised to see his brother lying in the fetal position on his bed, his eyes open and unblinking. An uneaten plate of cookies and glass of milk sat on the boy's desk.

Pushing the door closed, Dean walked across the room to his own bed and laid down on his back, pulling his headphones and Walkman from under his pillow he turned the device on to listen to some music while he was grounded.

W

Dean had his eyes closed so he didn't even see his brother get up and walk across the room towards him. He jumped when he felt his sibling touch his shoulder though and pulled one headphone from his ear.

"What?" he grumped.

"Can I lie beside you?" Sam asked.

Dean peered at his brother for a long moment. Normally he'd have told the ten-year old to get lost but something stopped him this time.

Instead he nodded and scooted closer to the wall to give his sibling space. Sam climbed onto the bed and laid down right beside him, his back pressing into Dean's side.

SPN

Deanna opened the bedroom door slowly and smiled at what she saw.

Dean lying on his back in his bed, Walkman blaring in his ears, Sam curled beside him with one of his big brother's arms around him.

Soundlessly, so as not to disturb her grandsons, Deanna closed the door and walked down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by Lonestar.  
> This is just another short chapter to set the mood and aid in character development. I know Dean's a bit of a jerk in this chapter but don't worry… he'll change his tune soon enough.  
> Please leave Kudos, it would be much appreciated :)


	9. Bless The Child

Dean Winchester groaned and rolled over in bed, waking slowly. Bright sunlight slanted through the curtains over the window, hitting the teen's face. The quiet sounds of conversation and utensils against dishes drifted up from the main floor of the house.

The teenager stretched and opened his eyes, peering blearily up at the ceiling for a moment. He rolled his eyes to the side and saw that his younger brother's bed was empty.

Sighing, Dean sat up and raked a hand through his short-cropped hair. Yawning widely, he stood and gazed down at his attire: a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of old green board shorts. Whatever, at least he was dressed.

Padding across the room, the teen pulled open the bedroom door and peeked into the hallway even though he knew it was deserted.

Below, in the kitchen, he heard his grandmother and younger sibling talking and laughing together. Dean rolled his eyes, his brother, at twelve years of age was really too old to be thinking his grandmother was cool. No wonder the kid didn't have any friends.

Deciding he couldn't wait any longer, Dean headed down the staircase, stepping loudly to make his presence known.

"It lives!" he heard his grandfather call sarcastically, probably from behind a newspaper, as always.

"Samuel," Deanna chided quietly, then, "Did you have a good sleep?"

Dean, in true teenager fashion, shrugged his shoulders as he stepped into kitchen, his eyes lighting upon the small pile of gifts sitting at his spot.

Grabbing his chair and turning it around, the sixteen-year old sat down and picked up the first present, wrapped in navy blue paper. The item inside was small and rectangular, not very heavy at all.

Sam, sitting across from him, gave a dorky smile, his hazel eyes nearly obscured by his long bangs.

"This from you?" Dean asked and his little brother nodded.

Resisting the urge to sigh- certain his sibling had gotten him something lame- Dean unwrapped the gift to reveal two cassettes, one Bon Jovi and the other Fleetwood Mac.

"I ha-" Dean began, irritated that his brother had thought it was okay to get him some lame pop rock tapes, it was like Sam didn't know him at all! But he stopped himself from continuing as his grandmother gave him a warning look.

"Thanks," he muttered and sat the cassettes on the table, pushing them as far away from himself as possible.

"Maybe its time we give you this," Deanna announced and stood. Dean looked up, interested.

Maybe he'd finally be getting his Dad's 1967 Chevy Impala.

Ever since he'd found out it was one of the items his grandparents had kept for him and his brother, he'd waited anxiously for the day when he turned sixteen, when he was finally old enough to learn to drive, and hoping he could learn with that beauty of a car.

From the cupboard where the teacups were kept, his grandmother pulled a thin stack of papers- the registration for the Chevy, perhaps- and handed them to the sixteen-year old.

"This is awesome, Grandma!" Dean crowed without even looking at them, "I can't wait to drive…"

Deanna, not smiling, pointed at the papers with her chin and the teen peered down at them, quickly scanning the words printed on them.

"What is this?" he asked, waving the forms.

"Your grandfather and I were talking," his grandmother explained in her usual calm tone, "And since neither of us is getting any younger, we decided we needed to have a plan in place if anything happened to us."

Dean stared at his grandmother as though seeing her for the first time.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," he told her.

"Of course not," Samuel, now lowering his newspaper, add, "But in case it did, we needed to know where you two would end up."

Dean looked at his sibling; his brother just looked confused. He clearly hadn't been in on this plan.

"It won't come into affect until you're eighteen, of course," Deanna continued, "But we thought you should know about it now."

Dean's gaze slid back down to the papers. They were forms outlining that if Deanna and Samuel were unable to care for their grandsons any more, Dean would have legal guardianship over his younger brother.

Anger boiled up in the teenager. This wasn't fair! He didn't want to be saddled with his dumb little brother for the rest of his life! He didn't eve like the kid!

Slamming the papers down on the table, Dean stood up suddenly.

"Dean," Deanna said and reached out a hand.

"I'm going to Melanie's," he growled, and turned on his heels, not even bothering to go upstairs and change his clothes he left the house, grabbed his bike and rode to his girlfriend's house.

SPN

"I told you he wasn't ready," Samuel told his wife as their eldest grandson stormed out of the house.

Deanna's mouth twisted but she said nothing.

Sammy smiled weakly at his grandmother, "Dean didn't like my present either, Nana."

The old woman just shook her head and chuckled.

SPN

Dean lay with his head on his girlfriend's lap as she ran her fingers through his short hair.

"Why couldn't they have given me a normal gift?" he vented, "No, they had to make it so that I have to look after my stupid brother if they croak."

Melanie stopped playing with her boyfriend's hair and Dean opened his eyes, wondering why she had stopped.

"I don't know what I'd do if Terry and I were separated," she mused quietly.

Dean sat up and sighed, "Mel, it's not the same."

The girl, who he had first talked to during one of Sam's soccer championship games, gathered her blonde hair in one hand and pulled it into a ponytail using the pink scrunchy she had around one wrist.

"Sure, Terry annoys me sometimes," she confessed, "But if I wasn't allowed to see him… I'd really hate that."

Dean shook his head, "Try having Sam as a brother, you'd see what I mean."

"Just think about it, Dean," Melanie asked, "Please?"

SPN

As Deanna put the milk, jam and marmalade back into the refrigerator, her gaze lit upon the strawberry pie she had made for Dean's birthday since the teen didn't like cake and sighed.

"Don't worry yourself over the boy, De," Samuel told her from the kitchen table, "If he wants to act like a little prick, than let him."

"Samuel," his wife began but then shook her head, "Never mind."

Deciding that she wanted one more cup of tea, Deanna walked over to the kettle, checked the amount of water inside, and then set it to boil.

"You are not going to teach Dean to drive using his father's car, are you?" she asked her husband.

"Not after that behaviour I'm not," Samuel replied, "I'll use our car."

Deanna nodded and sat down at the table, looking at the unopened birthday presents at her eldest grandson's spot.

SPN

Even though Dean didn't want to think about what Melanie had said, he couldn't help it.

Riding his bike down sidewalks still coated in snow, he tried to imagine what it would be like if his grandparents died, leaving him and his brother alone. The idea seemed ludacris to the sixteen-year old even though it was entirely plausible. Dean had never really considered it before but he guessed that if anything did happen to his grandparents, he and Sam would go into foster care. He knew they had relatives- distant cousins from his mother's side of the family- as he had seen them at his parents' funeral, but he didn't think it likely that any of them would step up to take him and his brother in, as he had never seen any of them since that sorrowful day twelve years ago when John and Mary had been laid to rest.

His little brother was a pest. Annoying Dean with everything he did and most of the time, the teenager would rather be without the irritation of his younger sibling, but if he had to be truly honest with himself, aside from all his sibling's bothersome qualities, he would miss the little guy if they were separated.

Coming to a stop, his tires skidding on ice, the teen closed his eyes for a moment, muttering, 'damn it' under his breath. Turning his bike around, Dean started towards home.

SPN

Sam looked up as his brother sped into the driveway, expertly avoiding a collision with the car as he steered his bike towards the side of the house.

"What're you doing?" his brother asked as he moved towards him.

Sam peered at the large ball of snow in front of himself.

"Making a snowman," he replied and bit his lip, waiting for a snide comment from his brother.

Dean was silent for a moment before he spoke; probably thinking up a perfectly cruel barb.

"Can I help?"

"I'm not a-" Sam began, indignation rising before he realized what his brother has said.

"You… want to help?" he repeated, unsure if he'd heard his brother correctly.

Dean nodded and smiled, "Yeah. We haven't made a snowman together since you were, what, five?

Sam shrugged and tried to hide his own smile.

SPN

"Dean's back," Samuel called to his wife as he peered at his grandsons through the front window, mug of coffee clutched in one hand.

Deanna stepped up beside her husband and watched as the teenager approached his younger sibling. Holding her breath, ready for some kind of altercation, the grandmother watched as the boys spoke to one another for a minute before the eldest dropped to his knees in the snow and began helping the younger roll a snowball.

Within minutes, the two siblings were laughing together, something that hadn't happened in a very long time.

Deanna herself smiled and rested her head against her husband's shoulder and watched her grandsons play in the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave Kudos or a Comment!


	10. Goodnight Sweet Josephine

"C'mon Sam!" Dean's voice shouted up at his sibling from the bottom of the staircase.

"One minute!" the fourteen-year old called to his older brother as he shoved his textbooks into his backpack.

Zipping the bag shut, Sam slung it over one shoulder and dashed out of the bedroom and hurried down the stairs.

"Drive carefully," the boys' grandmother, Deanna told them, standing in the kitchen doorway.

"I will," Dean promised, giving his grandmother a charming smile.

"'Bye Nana," Sam told her as he pulled on his shoes.

"Have a good day at school, you two," Deanna told them and turned to go back into the kitchen where her husband sat, reading the newspaper.

When his brother was ready, Dean opened the door and headed outside, pulling his leather jacket a little tighter around his body as a cool and damp spring breeze almost blew right through him.

The eighteen-year old pulled his car keys from his pocket and unlocked the passenger's side door of the black 1967 Chevrolet Impala he had been given for his birthday three months earlier. As Sam climbed into the vehicle, Dean unlocked his door and sat down behind the wheel.

The teen couldn't help but grin as he put the key in the ignition and turned it, the Chevy rumbling to life with a throaty roar.

"I love that sound," Dean confessed and Sam grinned at him.

"Can we listen to music?" his brother asked and Dean nodded, watching as his brother picked up the shoebox of old classic rock cassettes sitting at his feet and picked a tape at random.

Within moments, Steppenwolf's 'Born To Be Wild' began to blare from the speakers. Dean reached over and cranked the volume up to the highest level and pulled out of the driveway.

W

The eighteen-year old drove carefully down the roads leading to Lawrence High School where both he and his brother attended classes. It wasn't only because he had his baby brother's life in his hands, but he also was responsible for the car he was driving, the car that had once belonged to his father. He would be devastated if the Impala even so much ended up with a scratch on it. It had been a surprise when his grandfather had handed him the keys on the morning on January twenty-fourth. The eighteen-year old, who had been able to drive since he was sixteen, guessed that his grandparents hadn't wanted him to learn how to operate a motor vehicle in his father's beloved Chevy.

Dean Winchester, once a smarmy teenager with a penchant for mischief and a rebellious attitude, had long since cleaned up his act.

The day he'd turned sixteen, two years ago, his grandmother had given him a piece of paper in lieu of actual presents. The piece of paper though, was a form detailing how Dean would be Sam's legal guardian if anything happened to Deanna and Samuel. Even though it had been two years ago, and Dean would not be Sam's legal guardian until he turned eighteen, the gravity of the situation really hit home with the teenager and the once cocky boy saw the error of his ways. He'd never be allowed to look after his brother in extenuating circumstances if he had a criminal record.

Sure his brother annoyed him sometimes and sometimes he knew he could be nicer to his sibling, but Dean had really made an effort to clean up his act. No longer did his grandparents get phone calls from the principal and Dean never stayed out past dark unless he asked first. He had a part-time job at a local ice cream shop and paid for everything related to the Chevy Impala, from gas to tune ups and oil changes. He went to all of his brother's dorky soccer games- his brother had even been recruited for the high school's team- and cheered him on proudly.

W

Parking in the lot designated for students, Dean cut the car's engine and grabbed his backpack while his brother gathered his.

"See you later, Sammy," the eighteen-year old said goodbye to his sibling and climbed out of the vehicle.

The thirteen-year old waved at his older brother before exiting the Impala and hurrying off to his first class.

SPN

"What do you think about taking the boys on a vacation this summer?"

Deanna asked the question suddenly for she had not spoken to her husband since their grandsons had left the house, each drinking their tea and eating breakfast in comfortable silence.

Samuel lowered his newspaper and gazed over the top of his glasses at his wife.

"What kind of vacation?" he asked.

In all the years he had been married to his wife, they had never gone anywhere. They hadn't even had a honeymoon, as Samuel had been hunting a pack of vampires the same night they had tied the knot.

"Somewhere fun," Deanna suggested, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips, "Maybe Disney World?"

The retired hunter peered at his mate for a long moment and really noticed how old she appeared: her blonde hair was now mostly grey, her blue eyes faded, wrinkles seamed her face and the skin of her neck seemed to sag more than ever before. Glancing down, he saw that her hands were thin and crossed with blue veins that seemed far too close to the surface of her skin, brown spots starting to appear where only ivory flesh had been in her younger years.

"Don't you think Dean's a little old for that kind of thing? Not to mention us?" Samuel asked.

Deanna chuckled, "Of course not! Isn't Disney World supposed to be fun for all ages or something along those lines?"

"Florida's not close," Samuel reminded her, "How do you expect us to pay for a flight and accommodations and food?"

Deanna eyed her husband, "You know we have the money, Samuel."

"Why don't you want to go?" She continued, "We've never been on a vacation before. We've never been anywhere before."

"We've been places," Samuel corrected, "When we were younger, when we were hunting."

Deanna scowled, "Those aren't exactly fond memories."

Now it was Samuel's turn to make a face.

"You didn't complain at the time."

"I don't know why you are so against going on a little trip," Deanna commented, "You just made the point that you've never been a homebody."

"I just think it's a waste of money," Samuel told her, "We're all too old for that kind of nonsense, the boys included."

Deanna stood and took her empty teacup to the sink.

"I'd still like to go," she informed her husband, "And I'm sure Sam and Dean will too when I tell them tonight."

"De-" Samuel began but his wife frowned, "Don't you 'De' me, Samuel. I've made up my mind. You can come with us or not but the boys and I are going to go to Disney World this summer."

The old hunter's expression darkened but he said nothing more; instead he lifted his newspaper to obscure his face and that was the end of the conversation.

SPN

"Really, Nana?" Sam asked as Deanna explained her idea to the boys that evening during dinner.

The grandmother smiled and nodded, "That is, if you two want to go."

"We do!" the thirteen-year old exclaimed excitedly, "Don't we, Dean?"

His brother nodded.

"It's not too childish for you?" Deanna asked the eighteen-year old.

"No way," Dean assured her, "Melanie's family goes every year and she says she'll never get tired of it."

"Than it's decided," Deanna announced, "This summer, we'll go to Disney World."

W

Sam could hardly wait for summer to start. He had never gone anywhere exciting; when his classmates traveled to exotic or interesting locations, he had always remained in Lawrence, with nothing to talk about once the school year began once again.

As soon as dinner was finished and he'd helped his grandmother load the dishwasher, he ran into the den to the family's computer- a large grey cube with a slightly convex black screen- that sat on a small table in one corner of the room.

"What're you doing, short stuff?" Dean asked from the doorway as the thirteen-year old booted up the IBM.

"I want to research Disney before we go," Sam replied as the computer slowly warmed up.

Dean smiled and stepped into the room, "Can I join you?"

Sam nodded and Dean stood beside him as he typed on the keyboard.

SPN

The remainder of the month of April consisted of Deanna dragging her husband to the travel agency to begin preparations for their Disney vacation- booking a flight, deciding which package they wanted to go with, where they would stay for the duration of the time in Florida, and so on. Deanna found herself almost as or just as excited about the prospect of visiting Disney World as her two grandsons and perused the colourful brochures with childlike enthusiasm and wonderment.

Samuel, as grumpy as he was, managed to at least pretend to be as interested in the trip as his wife and actually ended up arguing with Deanna about whether they should stay in the French Quarter of Disney's Port Orleans Resort or at one of the campsites at the Fort Wilderness Resort.

"I have some old tents we can use," Samuel told his wife, "They're still in good condition."

Deanna did not look taken with the idea, "Not the ones you patched up with duct tape after that wendigo attack?"

"C'mon De, it's only fifty-three dollars a night," he added.

"I like the Port Orleans Resort," Deanna mused, "It reminds me of when we went to New Orleans to hunt that witch. Remember that?"

Samuel nodded, "Nearly ended up getting cursed."

"But the city was so interesting," Deanna added, "So old and beautiful… full of history. That's the one place I'd like to go visit again."

Her husband frowned and checked the prices.

"They're not cheap," he muttered.

"Of course they're not cheap," Deanna clucked, "But when are we going to do this again?"

Sighing, Samuel scratched at his grey-stubble chin, "I guess your right."

"We don't really need a view when we can just walk along the garden or river," Deanna admitted, "We can go with the standard view room."

Samuel nodded, "All right."

Deanna beamed and leaned over to kiss her husband.

"I know you don't think so now," she whispered, "but you'll have fun once we get there."

SPN

"Happy Birthday, Sam!"

The morning of May second, the fourteen-year old was greeted by his grandparents and brother in the kitchen, the room decorated with multi-coloured streamers, a plastic birthday-themed table cloth and party hats.

The young teen blushed but he really didn't mind all the kiddie decorations. It was something his grandmother had been doing for both he and Dean since they had been little and although his brother had reminded the old woman that he was a bit too old for that sort of thing the day he turned fourteen, Sam didn't have the heart to do the same.

"Come and sit down, I made your favourite," Deanna encouraged and the fourteen took a seat in his usual spot across from his brother.

A teetering stack of pancakes wobbled precariously in the centre of the table.

"Blueberry?" Sam asked shyly and Deanna nodded, "Of course."

Spearing a golden cake with his fork, the teen brought it to his plate before reaching for the maple syrup.

"Are we still going to the movies this afternoon?" Sam asked, cutting his pancake with his fork and shoving a large chunk into his mouth.

"If you're sure it won't be too scary for you boys," Deanna commented, adding a pat of butter to her own pancake.

Sam shook his head, "It won't be."

"All right," his grandmother replied, "You be sure to let Dean know if it is."

Sam rolled his eyes but promised he would. For his birthday, he had invited his friends Logan and Terry to go to the movies to watch the newly released Volcano with him and his older brother. Logan, who had played soccer with Sam since they were little, and Terry, who was Melanie's younger brother, were the fourteen-year old's closest friends and had no qualms about the high school senior accompanying them to the movie theatre. They both thought Dean was hilarious.

Pleased, the fourteen-year old finished his pancake before asking for seconds and thirds.

"Sam," Deanna exclaimed, surprised, "You never eat this much! I made all the extra pancakes for your brother!"

The eighteen-year old laughed, "Sammy's a growing boy, Grandma, he needs all the food he can get!"

SPN

Sam sat in between Logan and Dean, with Terry on Logan's other side, cramming popcorn into his mouth as the movie's climax neared. Once it had ended, they would find his grandparents in the mall and return home to open presents and order pizza.

"Wow!" the fourteen-year old gasped as the protagonist nearly avoided getting crushed by a flaming car and almost choked on his popcorn.

Dean, seeing him wide-eyed, slapped him on the back.

"Slow down there, Sammy," he chuckled and turned his attention back to the movie.

Just as the final scene was rolling and the hero, Tommy Lee Jones, ran away from the boiling river of lava oozing towards him and his lady friend, Dean glanced at his sibling to see Sam's hands over his eyes.

Chuckling to himself, Dean let his brother be. His friends were too engrossed in the film to notice the birthday boy was being a chicken.

SPN

"How was the movie?" Deanna asked as the teens found her and Samuel in the food court, drinking coffee from the Dunkin' Donuts nestled between a Taco Bell and a McDonald's.

"It was great!" Logan replied, "Wasn't it Sam?"

The younger Winchester nodded and smiled, trying to act as though he hadn't been too scared to watch the last few minutes of the action-packed film.

"What do you say you boys start heading to the car and we'll catch up with you?" Deanna asked.

"Sure," Terry replied, "Hey, Sam, race you?"

The boy glanced back at his grandmother before taking off with his two friends, dodging between other mall rats and laughing.

Deanna sighed and laid a hand against her cheek.

"I know he's already in high school," she murmured, mostly to herself, "But sometimes he seems so much like a little boy still."

Samuel took a sip of coffee.

"Did he behave?" he asked his eldest grandson and Dean nodded, "Yeah."

Samuel nodded once, finished his drink and stood, "You ready, De?"

His wife smiled and stood, handing him her empty cup. As they walked out of the food court Samuel dumped the cups into the trash before putting an arm around his wife's waist.

SPN

As the car pulled into the driveway of the Campbell household, the three fourteen-year old boys clambered out of the vehicle, eager to head inside.

The three older occupants took their time walking up the path to the front door.

"Relax Sammy," Dean chuckled, "Your presents are going anywhere."

The young teen, embarrassed, did as his brother asked, blushing slightly.

As Samuel approached the front door, the boys all stepped out of the way so he could unlock it before crowding inside as he motioned for them to go in.

"Why don't I get us all some drinks?" Deanna asked, "And I'll meet you in the den."

"Sure," Samuel replied and ushered the boys into the den near the rear of the house.

"Need help?" Dean asked but his grandmother shook her head, "You go and make sure your brother doesn't open anything until I get there."

Grinning, Dean nodded and followed his grandfather and brother down the hallway.

Entering the den, he saw his brother and his two friends had taken up the couch. Shrugging to himself, the eighteen-year old sat down on the floor directly across from the couch, where his view of his sibling was hidden by a pile of presents on the coffee table.

Minutes passed and the three fourteen-year olds were quickly becoming antsy. Finally Samuel turned to his younger grandson, "Go see if your grandmother needs some help in the kitchen."

Sam nodded and jumped up from the couch, "Okay."

SPN

"Nana? Do you need help?" Sam called as he headed down the hallway towards the kitchen, "Nana?"

The fourteen-year old heard no reply from his grandmother and frowned. Hadn't she heard him calling?

"Nana?!" Sam raised his voice, now nearly upon the kitchen and stopped in his tracks when he spied a pair of feet on the floor.

"Nana!" the teen cried and ran the rest of the way into the room to find his grandmother lying on the floor in front of the open refrigerator door, a pitcher of lemonade smashed beside her. The old woman's eyes were open and empty, her face slack, hair soaked with the sticky juice.

The boy dropped down beside the stricken woman and lifted her head, ignoring the glass as it pierced through his jeans and into the skin of his knees.

"Nana? Nana, can you hear me? Nana!" Sam peered into his grandmother's face, his blood running cold, before he shouted for help.

"Dean! Dean! Paw!"

Footsteps hurried to the kitchen and Sam was pushed into the lower cupboards as his grandfather took his place at his wife's side, calling her name desperately.

"Dean! Call an ambulance! Now!" Samuel snapped.

Sam watched in shock as his grandfather shook his wife's shoulders in a futile attempt to wake her before making another fruitless attempt to save her and began to perform CPR.

From the doorway to the kitchen, Logan and Terry looked on in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by the Yardbirds.  
> I have not seen the movie 'Volcano' so I am not really sure how it ends. Though I am kind of interested in watching it. If anyone has seen it, let me know if it's worth a viewing.  
> Please leave Kudos!


	11. Ocean Breathes Salty

It rained on the day of Deanna Campbell's funeral.

The lawn of the cemetery was waterlogged, mourners standing in inches of watery mud as they poured out their grief while the clouds poured out their burden of rain.

Sam stood close to his brother; unable to keep his emotions in check and allowed hot tears to mix with the chilly raindrops running down his face.

Dean, grim, who would not cry in front of his grandfather, wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder, not in comfort for there was no comforting the younger teen, but in solidarity.

The brothers, once again surrounded by strangers despite their shared blood, fought not only grief but also loneliness.

Samuel Campbell, who had not shed a single tear for his wife, stood at the head of the open grave, stoic. He spoke slowly, his tone gruff as he talked about the woman he had spent many years of his life with, had raised a daughter with, had raised two grandsons with, only to be struck down in an insidious monster.

Dean's arm tightened around his sibling's thin shoulders and he lowered his head until his mouth nearly touched his brother's ear.

"It's not your fault," he whispered, "There was nothing anyone could do."

Sam, riddled with guilt, grabbed onto the front of his brother's black suit jacket and buried his face in the wet fabric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by Modest Mouse.  
> Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you're enjoying the story!


	12. Wrathchild

The day after Deanna Campbell was laid in her final resting place, her husband and grandsons were found at the kitchen table, plates of tuna casserole sitting untouched before them, all three lost in his own thoughts.

The household was deathly silent. Family members had vanished as soon as the casket was buried, friends and neighbours having departed after leaving the customary offerings of casseroles and cold comfort.

Sam stared at his plate, spearing peas with his fork and moving them to one side of his plate methodically but without eating anything. He didn't dare look up at his grandfather, far too aware that he would only be met with a gaze filled with fire.

"May I be excused?" the fourteen-year old asked in a whisper, as though afraid to raise his voice.

There was silence for a moment before his brother spoke.

"Sure, Sammy," Dean replied, his tone equally as guarded as his sibling's.

The young teen's chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as he pushed away from the table before he slunk from the room like a beaten dog. Dean watched his brother exit the kitchen before turning back to his plate of uneaten casserole with a heavy sigh.

Wrinkling his nose, the eighteen-year old scooped up a greyish glob of tuna with his fork and forced himself to eat it. Chewing quickly, the noodles mushy, the peas popping unpleasantly, the tuna fraying like old string, Dean somehow managed to swallow the fare before his grandfather spoke up.

"I should have gone to check her myself."

The teen looked up at Samuel but the older man was not looking at him, he was clearly speaking to himself.

"I shouln't have let him go."

"Grandpa," Dean began, cautiously, "You didn't know… no one knew-"

"I shouldn't have left her alone with him," Samuel growled, "I should have known better."

Dean frowned, "What-"

"If I'd been there instead of him," Samuel continued, interrupting his grandson, "I could have saved her… she'd… she'd still be alive now… if not for him…"

Dean's frown turned to an angry scowl, "Grandpa, Grandma died of an aneurysm. There was nothing the doctors could do, nothing you could do. They… they told us she was already gone by the time the ambulance came."

"It's not Sammy's fault," Dean continued before Samuel could interrupt again, "He was scared… we all were."

Instead of snapping back, the old hunter simply stood and picked up his plate of uneaten casserole, took it to the sink and dropped it with such force that the dish cracked. Rather than clean up the mess, Samuel went to the fridge, rummaged around the containers of casserole for a can of beer and opened it, guzzling down half its contents in two long swallows.

Dean watched as his grandfather left the kitchen, heading down the hallway towards the den without another word.

SPN

Deanna, the only woman he had ever loved, the only one who really understood him, was gone and there was no getting her back.

Samuel stared at the blank, black television screen, his refection glowering back at him from the dark glass.

He had known it was only a matter of time, when he'd first realized what had happened to his daughter and son-in-law, before the monster masquerading as a little boy attacked his family. He only wished he had been more attentive, no, he wished he had done what he'd meant to that very night the infant had come into their lives.

If he had just had a little more willpower and smothered the child in its sleep, Deanna would still be alive now.

Lifting the can of beer to his lips, Samuel took a long swallow, nearly finishing the drink.

But why did his wife have to die? She had only ever been good to the boy. It was his birthday too, for Christ's sake.

Scowling, the old hunter drained the beer and crushed the can in his fist.

What had his daughter and son-in-law done? They were the little monster's parents and they had not been spared.

Standing, Samuel made his way slowly out of the den, intent on getting himself another drink.

Who was next? Dean? Him? Some other unfortunate soul?

Pulling open the door to the fridge, Samuel looked past the tuna casseroles, baked pasta shells, and pies brought by friends and neighbours so that they wouldn't have to do any cooking for the next month, and pulled an entire six-pack of beer from the shelf.

Hooking the plastic collar around one of the cans, the retired hunter brought all half-dozen cans into the den with him as he continued to think about his youngest grandchild.

SPN

"Sammy?"

The fourteen-year old looked up at the sound of his brother speaking his name from the doorway of their shared bedroom.

"You okay?"

The young teen, lying on his stomach on his bed, didn't respond. He was facing away from the door, propped on his elbows, holding a family portrait that had been taken during the past year's Christmas season, the boys and their grandparents smiling happily into the camera.

Sam didn't react as Dean stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

Without taking his gaze away from the photograph, the teen answered.

"What's there to talk about? She's dead."

Dean sighed heavily and reached out, carding a hand through his brother's longish hair.

"Remember," he began but then paused; feeling tears well up in his eyes, "Remember when Mom and Dad died?"

"No," Sam muttered.

"Right, of course not," Dean replied, "You were just a baby. But I remember."

The younger teen didn't reply. He would not look away from the portrait of his grandmother.

"I felt like it was somehow my fault," Dean said quietly, almost whispering, "I thought somehow, something I had done, had started that fire."

Sam reacted now; he twisted around so that he was facing his brother, still clutching the picture frame tightly in both hands.

"You never told me that," he told his brother.

Dean gave a sad smile, "It's true. For a little while anyway."

"Why?" Sam asked, "You were only a kid."

"The day before the fire," his brother confided, "I was playing out in the front yard with a football. Dad was at work and Mom was inside, watching from the kitchen window."

Sam waited patiently for him to continue.

"Well, I threw that stupid football too far and it bounced into the road," Dean went on, his eyes slightly gazed as though he was seeing the events of that day unfold right in front of him.

"And being a little kid," he continued, "I ran right after that football."

"I didn't even see that car as it came speeding towards me. I just bent down and grabbed my football."

Sam's mouth opened in shock.

"The next thing I hear is skidding tires and the front door of the house slamming open, Mom screaming at the driver and me."

"You didn't get hit?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, "The driver saw me in time and swerved just in time."

"I'd never seen Mom so angry before. She dragged me back inside and spanked me. That's what I remember most. Mom didn't even look angry… she just looked scared. I wasn't allowed outside again for the rest of the day."

"The next day, well, that was when the fire happened," Dean continued, "And I thought that because I'd been bad the day before, I had caused it."

The eighteen-year old sighed, "What I'm trying to say, Sammy, is that what happened to Grandma wasn't your fault. At all. Nothing you did could have done anything to her."

"But-" the younger brother began, feeling guilt creep back in- if he'd refused to go in and check on his Nana, if his Paw had gone instead, maybe there'd been enough time; maybe if they hadn't spent all that time walking around the mall; maybe if he'd been just a little faster at calling his brother and grandfather for help- she'd still be alive.

"No," Dean said forcefully, reaching out and pulling the portrait from his sibling's hands, "No, Sam, don't even say it. You had nothing to do with Grandma's death."

The fourteen-year old bit his lip and nodded.

"Okay," he whimpered.

"I want to hear you say it," Dean demanded, "I want you to say, out loud, that it's not your fault for what happened to Grandma."

Sam's lip trembled but he did as his brother asked, "It… It's n-not my f-fault for what hap-happened to Nana."

Dean smiled, "Now, say that whenever you feel guilty. Okay?"

Reaching up, he squeezed his sibling's shoulder comfortingly.

Sam nodded, "I will. I promise."

The boys lapsed into silence for a moment before the younger spoke again.

"Do you think Paw's going to be okay?"

Dean hesitated for a moment.

"He's just dealing with Grandma's death in his own way, Sammy," he told his brother, "He'll come around."

The younger boy nodded and picked up the portrait, hugging it to his chest.

"You should put that back in the den," Dean advised, "Grandpa might wonder where it is."

Sam nodded and sat up in his bed but didn't move further.

"Can I do it tonight?"

Dean nodded, "Sure, I'm sure he won't mind."

SPN

Dean gave a small smile as he entered the bedroom he shared with his brother well past midnight and spied his sibling sleeping on top of his blankets, the picture tucked under his arm.

The evening had been quiet and tense. Samuel had remained separated from his grandsons, drinking beer after beer in the den. He hadn't even come into the kitchen for dinner when Dean called and let him know he was warming up some of the baked pasta Joyce had brought over.

Sam and Dean ate their dinner alone, not daring to talk, though not particularly in the mood for conversation anyway.

Afterwards Sam had gone into the backyard, sitting on the lowest step of the porch, chin propped on one hand, lost in thought.

Dean, alone in the house with their grandfather, had tried to take his mind off the sadness enveloping his family and attempted to work on some homework he'd neglected since his grandmother's passing.

W

The eighteen-year old reached down and carefully pulled the picture frame out from under his sibling's arm. Pausing to look at the photo, he sighed and turned, leaving the room to return the portrait to its proper location.

Walking slowly down the staircase, Dean wondered what would happen to his family now. In less than two months school would end and he would graduate. He had plans to go to college, to become a firefighter, and start his journey of adulthood.

But now, the idea of leaving his brother alone with Samuel, who had never really been the warm and caring kind of grandfather, troubled Dean. He was sure that as time passed and the old man remembered he still had two grandsons- one of whom still depended on him- everything would be fine. But until then, Dean could put his dreams of post-secondary education on hold, but only while things were bleak.

Stepping into the den, the teen was surprised to see it was deserted. Empty beer cans surrounded the spot where Samuel had sat all afternoon but his grandfather had moved elsewhere. Maybe he had gone to bed.

Dean placed the picture frame back where it belonged, on top of the television, and paused to gather the empty beer cans and take them to the kitchen.

Traveling the short distance, the eighteen-year old stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. There was a light on in the garage. The door that led to it, just off the kitchen, had a sliver of white glowing at the bottom.

Dean frowned. What would his grandfather be doing in the garage? There was nothing in it but the Impala.

Shrugging, deciding the old man was probably getting more beer; the teen dumped the empties onto the counter before heading back upstairs to go to sleep.

SPN

Samuel Campbell stood at his workbench, his eyes bloodshot, his breath smelling of beer and tuna casserole but his hands steady as he took apart his Beretta M9 and meticulously cleaned it.

SPN

Two weeks after Deanna Campbell had shuffled off the mortal coil, after all the casseroles and pies had been eaten, after friends and neighbours ceased popping over to check in on the boys and their grandfather, it seemed as though life in the household was slowly returning to normal. Sam and Dean returned to school and Samuel pottered around the house instead of drinking himself into a stupor. The three cautiously engaged in conversation and seemed more at ease with one another's company. The evenings were often spent at the kitchen table; Samuel drinking coffee or having a single can of beer while his grandsons worked on their homework. The old hunter had even informed the boys that they should still go to Florida in the summer because 'Deanna would want it that way'.

Dean was relieved that his grandfather no longer seemed to blame his brother for what had happened to their grandmother and Sam didn't shy away from Samuel as much as he had immediately following their grandmother's death.

It wasn't easy, but the eighteen-year old could see that their grandfather was clearly trying to make an effort to get over his feelings of guilt and the need to find someone to blame for the event.

SPN

Dean finished his last mouthful of spaghetti and sat back. He glanced at his brother and grandfather, both of whom were still eating and cleared his throat.

Sam looked up but Samuel did not.

"I was thinking of going out with Mel tonight," Dean announced, his tone tentative, "We won't be long; I was thinking we'd catch a movie and come back home."

Now Samuel raised his head, sucking a stray noodle into his mouth.

"Is that okay?" the eighteen-year old finished, eyeing his grandfather warily.

"Of course," Samuel replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "You've been neglecting that girl and I dare say she'd like to know you haven't forgotten about her."

Dean nodded, his face growing hot.

"Can I come?" Sam asked, looking at his brother hopefully.

Though things were easier in the household, Dean had not yet left his brother alone with his grandfather.

"Sorry short stuff," Dean apologized, "Maybe next time, okay?"

Sam, though he looked disappointed, seemed to understand and he nodded.

"You finished eating?" Dean asked and stood.

"Yeah," Sam replied and handed Dean his bowl.

The eighteen-year old looked to his grandfather but Samuel shook his head and continued slurping up the spaghetti.

"Can I go upstairs?" the fourteen-year old asked, "I have some homework."

"Sure Sammy," Dean replied as he rinsed the dishes in the sink before putting them in the dishwasher.

Once his brother was out of sight, Dean returned to his seat and addressed his grandfather.

"Maybe you and Sammy could do something tonight, Grandpa? Find something to watch on TV, make popcorn… you know just the two of you?"

Dean suggested, continually trying to mend the rift between his brother and their grandfather.

Samuel again looked up from his dinner.

"That's a good idea, Dean," he said, "We should do that."

The teen smiled. Although Samuel normally wouldn't have much to do with his brother if he could help it, Dean guessed that the old man had had a change of heart since he and Sam were the only close relatives he had left.

W

Dean pulled his leather jacket on, stepped into his boots and grabbed the keys to the Impala from the key-rack by the front door.

"I'm heading out!" he called, "I'll be home in a couple of hours!"

"Bye Dean!" Sam hurried to the top of the stairs and shouted down to him, smiling.

"If you're good for Grandpa I'll get you a toy from the claw machine," Dean joked and his brother rolled his eyes.

The movie theatre in the mall, the very same one they had visited two weeks ago for Sam's birthday, boasted an air hockey table, a couple of arcade games and a claw machine with stuffed animals in it.

"See you later," Sam waved his brother out the door.

Dean headed down the path to the driveway and climbed into the Impala's driver's seat. Reaching over he started the engine and the vehicle roared to life, rock music blaring from the speakers.

Pulling away from the house, Dean smiled, looking forward to spending the evening with his girlfriend.

SPN

Sam watched as the glow of the Impala's headlights faded away from the window in the front door before turning and heading back to the room he shared with his brother.

Leaving the door ajar, he sat down on his bed and picked up the book he had been reading- Stephen King's The Shining- and continued where he had left off.

SPN

Samuel sat at the kitchen table, cup of coffee growing cold in front of him, the weight of his semi-automatic gun heavy in the pocket of his cardigan.

SPN

"How are you doing, Dean?" Mel asked as she sat down in the Impala's front passenger seat.

"It's getting better," the eighteen-year old told her, leaning to the right to kiss his girlfriend on the mouth, "It's a lot better than it was."

The girl smiled, "Did you already have dinner?"

Dean nodded, "Spaghetti. You?"

"Meatloaf," Mel replied, "So, straight to the mall?"

Dean smiled and pulled out of the driveway.

SPN

"Can you come down here for a moment?"

Sam lifted his head as he heard his grandfather's voice drift up from the bottom of the stairs. Frowning, the boy wondered what Samuel wanted.

"Be right down, Paw," the fourteen-year old replied, placing a finger in between the pages of his book and padded out of the room.

Making his way down the hallway, Sam spoke, "What's wrong?"

His grandfather didn't answer.

The teen walked to the end of the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs. Samuel was standing at the bottom, hands behind his back.

"What-" Sam began again but his words were cut off when the retired hunter pulled a handgun from behind his back.

SPN

It was now or never. There was no time for hesitation. No second chances.

Before the monster that looked like a child could speak again, Samuel fired the gun once, twice, three times.

The first bullet hit the boy in the left side of his chest, causing him to stagger backwards a few feet but remarkably he remained upright. The second slug followed the first, likewise ripping through the teen's chest just below the first. The third hit the boy in the neck, just as he was beginning to fall forward.

Samuel watched without emotion as his grandson tumbled down the stairs, arms and legs flinging limply, like a rag doll, to land at his feet.

The hunter peered down at the monster that had pretended to be his grandson for fourteen years. Lying on his back, the boy's eyes were open, fear and pain clouding their hazel depths and darkening them until they were nearly black, red blossoming in twin circles on the teen's t-shirt while a crimson stream flowed from his throat.

A gurgling gasp alerted the old hunter to the fact that the boy was not dead yet. Crouching down, Samuel placed the barrel of his Beretta right against the boy's brow, more than ready to finish what he had started.

SPN

"That'll be twelve dollars and ninety cents," the girl running the cash register told Dean and the teen dug in the pocket for his wallet. It wasn't there. Frowning, he checked the other pocket.

"Is everything okay?" Mel asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

"I forgot my wallet at home," Dean muttered, "Shit."

"I've got mine," his girlfriend offered, taking her powder blue wallet from her purse.

Dean placed a hand over it, "Tonight was my treat. We'll just have to get my wallet and come back."

"But we'll miss the movie," Mel argued.

"We can catch the late viewing," Dean assured her, then turned to the girl behind the cash register, "There is a late one, right?"

She nodded.

"See? No problem," Dean smiled, "We'll just have to watch the later one."

Mel paused but than nodded, "Okay."

Putting an arm around his girlfriend's waist, Dean walked Mel out of the movie theatre and through the mall to where he had parked his car.

W

Dean blushed slightly as he turned down the loud music blaring from the Impala's speakers as he pulled into the driveway of his grandparents' house and Van Halen's 'Panama' was abruptly silenced.

"I'll be right back," he told Mel, "Don't disappear while I'm gone."

The girl smiled and shook her head, "I won't."

Grinning, Dean opened the car door and stepped out, heading down the walk towards the house.

"Make sure your grandfather's okay with us seeing the later show!" Mel called to Dean and pulled the driver's side door shut.

The boy waved a hand to signal that he had heard and stepped up to the front door. Pulling his keys from his pocket, Dean unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Hey, Grandpa, I forgot my wallet here and-"

The teen froze as he stepped inside and caught sight of the scene before him. His little brother lay on his back on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, his grandfather hunkered down beside him, gun in the boy's face. A scarlet pool of blood that was slowly creeping across the linoleum stretched out to complete the horror movie scene.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Dean shouted at Samuel and the old man stood, half-turning to look at his elder grandson.

"Doing what I should have fourteen years ago," Samuel growled and turned to the boy on the floor.

"NO!" Dean cried but couldn't move; it was as though he was stuck to the floor.

Quietly, almost lost against the sound of blood pounding in his ears, Dean heard the distant wail of a siren.

Someone, a neighbour, had called after hearing what sounded like gunshots.

Samuel appeared to hear the sound as well, turned to Dean again and lifted the gun, "Don't make me hurt you, son."

The eighteen-year old said nothing, too shocked to speak, waiting for his grandfather to pull the trigger.

Seeming to think better of it though, Samuel peered down at the gun in his hand before lifting it higher, this time to his own temple.

"DON'T-" Dean cried but his plea was cut off by the sound of the gun firing for a forth time.

Samuel's body landed heavily on the floor, blood and brain matter oozing sluggishly from his broken skull.

Dean, suddenly able to move, dashed across the foyer and dropped to his knees beside his brother as his sibling had done for their grandmother not so long ago.

The teen gazed into his brother's face, taking in the dark eyes, pale skin, and twin trails of blood leaking from the corners of his mouth and let out a helpless sob.

"Sammy," Dean moaned, "Sammy, no, please don't die. Please stay with me, please."

Not sure exactly what he could do to help his sibling, Dean pressed down with one hand on the wounds in his brother's chest, while the other clapped against his neck, hot blood seeping between his trembling fingers.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and bowed his head so that his forehead was touching his brother's, "Sammy, Sammy, please, please. Don't die. Don't leave me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Iron Maiden song.  
> Please leave kudos and I will end this cliffhanger quickly!


	13. Me and My Baby Brother

Dean lifted his head when he heard his name and looked up to see two police officers.

"I'm Officer Bernardo and this is Offer Graham," the short, squat officer introduced himself and his partner, "We need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight."

The teen sat back in the blue plastic chair he had been sitting in for hours and glanced around the waiting room. Deserted but for himself and the nurse on duty, Dean supposed their conversation wouldn't have any eavesdroppers.

"Sure," he muttered and wiped a hand over his face, forgetting that his fingers were still stained with his brother's blood.

"Where were you at the time your grandfather shot your brother?" Officer Bernardo asked.

Dean shrugged, "At the movie theatre, maybe, or heading back home. I forgot my wallet and wanted to pay for my girlfriend so…"

The officers nodded as Graham wrote down the teen's response in a notepad.

"Your girlfriend," Bernardo began, "She can verify that?"

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"Her name is Melanie Sawyer?"

Dean nodded.

"Has your grandfather ever show anti-social behaviour before?"

Frowning, Dean answered, "I don't know. I mean, he was never really that close with Sam and me. He was distant if that's what you mean but he was never a gun-nut. At least if he was I never knew about it."

"Now, your grandmother passed away two weeks ago, am I correct?"

Dean nodded.

"What was your grandfather's reaction to that?"

"He was upset, naturally," the teen answered, "We all were."

"At the time, did he mention anything about wanting to hurt someone, maybe himself or another person?"

Dean shook his head.

"No, he said he wished he had been able to do something to save Grandma but he didn't say anything about wanting to hurt… hurt Sammy… that's why he did it, isn't it?"

The officers said nothing. Bernardo cleared his throat, "That's what we are trying to find out."

"Now," he continued, "Did he say anything to you before he killed himself?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't… yeah… he did… he said that he didn't want to hurt me."

"What were his exact words? Can you remember them?" Bernardo asked.

Dean hesitated, tears welling up in his eyes at the memory.

"He said 'don't make me hurt you, son.'"

"All right," Bernardo said, "I think we have enough for now. Can we come back again if we have anymore questions?"

"You know where I'll be," Dean replied.

The two officers stood and took their leave, exiting the waiting room through its sliding glass doors.

W

Somehow Dean managed to doze, exhausted from the fear and adrenaline coursing through his body he leaned his head back and slept for a short time.

"Dean?"

The teen jerked awake, eyes darting around the room, "Sammy?"

Melanie stood in front of him with her mother, father and kid brother.

"Sorry," Dean muttered.

"Don't be sorry, Sweetheart," Mrs. Sawyer murmured and sat down beside him while her daughter took a seat on her boyfriend's other side.

"What are you all doing here?" he asked, peering tiredly at the family.

"We couldn't let you wait here alone," Mel told him.

Dean shook his head, "You shouldn't be here. If… If the news is bad…"

"Dean," his girlfriend spoke in a stern tone, unlike her usually soft-spoken voice, "Sam's like my little brother and he's Terry's best friend. There was no way we were going to wait around at home for news."

The teen opened his mouth to respond but then nodded.

"Thank you," he murmured.

W

The wait was long and boring- or at least, it would have been boring if Dean wasn't terrified of what the doctor would say when he arrived- but the teen greatly appreciated his girlfriend's family staying with him, even though they did not have to.

After a while Mr. Sawyer and Terry went off before for a short time before returning with cups of coffee and sandwiches wrapped in cellophane.

"It all came out of a vending machine," Terry said apologetically as he passed out the sandwiches, his father handing out the coffee.

Mel smiled at her younger brother.

Dean couldn't smile; the longer the time he spent in the waiting room the more he was certain he would never see his sibling again. Having something in his belly seemed to take the edge off, however and he felt a little less tired.

W

"Dean, what happened in there?" Mel whispered quietly, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

Around them, the rest of her family was fast asleep, the hours to morning growing closer.

Dean shifted uncomfortably but didn't answer her question.

"Look, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Mel lifted her head and peered into Dean's eyes, "But I heard… I heard you shouting and… and the gunshot…"

The eighteen-year old peered into the girl's sky blue eyes and sighed.

"It was my grandfather," he spoke softly, barely above a whisper, "He… shot Sammy… and then he put the gun to his own head…"

Melanie's eyes widened in shock and she nodded.

"Sam will be okay," she whispered, "He's a tough kid."

Dean just looked at her, unable to believe.

W

Officers Graham and Bernardo were back, questioning Melanie about the events of the night before.

Early morning light, warm and golden yellow, shone through the large windows of the Emergency waiting room and the hospital was rapidly coming alive with doctors, nurses and patients.

Dean, to give his girlfriend some privacy, went with her father and brother to the cafeteria for more bad coffee and some breakfast.

Hours had passed since Sam had been rushed into the hospital's winding corridors and sterile rooms and there had still been no word on his condition.

Mr. Sawyer, always the optimist, reminded the young man that no news was good news but Dean couldn't help but picture an operating room spattered with blood- Sammy's blood- while a team of doctors and nurses fought desperately to save his life, all manner of tubes and wires and machines hooked up to his sibling to try and keep his heart beating.

"Dean? Dean? Did you hear me?" Mr. Sawyer asked, peering at the younger man with concern.

"Huh? Sorry," the eighteen-year old muttered and shook himself mentally.

"Do you want pancakes and sausage?" the older man asked and Dean shrugged, "I guess so."

Mr. Sawyer peered at Dean with sympathy for a long moment before turning to let the cook know what they were ordering.

"Why don't you and Terry get us some drinks?" he asked the teenager and Dean nodded, following the younger boy to the row of coffee and tea, milk and juice pitchers.

"Remember the time Sam sprained his ankle while we were playing the Cobras?" Terry asked as he filled a paper cup with orange juice and put it on his tray.

"Hm? Yeah," Dean replied, filling his cup nearly to the brim with coffee, "He kept insisting he was okay."

Terry nodded, filling a second cup with tea for his mother, "We won that game because Sam wouldn't sit out."

Dean almost smiled, "Grandma was so mad when she found out he'd hurt himself. Made him stay in bed with a bag of frozen peas on his ankle for the rest of the day."

Terry chuckled.

"Mel's right, Sam's tough," he told Dean, "He's one of the toughest guys I know."

The older teen narrowed his eyes, "You were listening in?"

The younger boy blushed slightly, "Sam's my friend. He's my best friend."

Dean nodded, sighing, "I guess I should have told you what happened."

Terry finished filling up at third cup with coffee just as his father approached with breakfast.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter what happened as long as Sam pulls through."

W

Returning to his girlfriend and her mother, Dean noticed that the police officers had gone, only to be replaced by a middle-aged man wearing mint green scrubs, a blue mask and an air of confidence.

"Dean!" Mel called and made a come hither motion with her hand.

The teen instantly followed the unspoken instruction and ran towards the trio, his heart pounding in his chest, the coffee from his cup splashing all over the tile floor.

"Are you Sammy's doctor?" the eighteen-year old asked, peering at the man hopefully, trying to find out his brother's condition from what he could see of the doctor's face.

The man nodded and pulled his mask down to his chin, "I'm Dr. Michelson."

"Is Sammy okay?" Dean asked, on pins and needles.

"He made it through the night," the doctor confirmed and the young man sagged with relief, "But he still has a long recovery ahead of him."

Dean nodded.

"Can I see him?"

Dr. Michelson looked around at the Sawyer family.

"Why don't you walk with me and I will tell you more about your brother's condition?"

Dean nodded and followed the man out of the waiting room without looking back. Once they had passed through a pair of swinging doors, did the doctor begin to speak again.

"Your brother had two punctures in his left lung, requiring surgery to repair the damage. Right now, he is receiving oxygen therapy to help his lungs absorb as much O2 as possible and has a chest tube to prevent any air from leaking into his chest cavity.

The second bullet, as well as tearing through Sam's lung, clipped his Inferior Vena Cava- which carries de-oxygenate blood from the body to the heart- and as a result, blood was seeping out and causing his heart to work even harder than it should. That was also repaired with surgery.

The bullet that hit your brother in the neck, miraculously missed his carotid artery, but tore a number of the infrahyoid muscles. These muscles help to depress the hyoid bone and larynx when a person is swallowing and talking."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked before the doctor could continue, "Can Sam… will he be able to eat and talk?"

Dr. Michelson nodded, "Because the torn muscles were repaired, he will be able to eat and talk, though with some difficulty until they have healed. It may take as long as several months before the muscles have healed fully but your brother should make a full recovery."

"Okay," Dean replied, relieved.

"Though it may be hard for Sam to speak and eat properly for a while as the muscles heal," the doctor advised Dean, "I will prescribe him something for the pain but I would like him to try and speak as much as possible and eat a diet of soft foods to start, to ensure that the muscles are working as they should and to prevent atrophy."

Dr. Michelson paused just outside the door of a room at the end of a narrow hallway cluttered with carts of supplies, stretchers and empty wheelchairs.

"Your brother broke his right arm falling down the stairs and sustained a number of contusions. Lastly, he has a concussion that we are keeping an eye on," the doctor finished, his hand on the doorknob, "All in all, your brother is extremely lucky."

Dean nodded. After everything Dr. Michelson had just told him, it didn't feel that way.

The doctor paused and peered at the teenager, "Do you have any family you can contact? An aunt or uncle?"

Dean shook his head, "No, it's just me and Sammy now."

His mind went to the distant cousins from Samuel's side of the family who had attended Mary, John and Deanna's funerals but then perished the thought. He didn't know any of them from a hole in the ground and really, right now he didn't relish the idea of meeting anyone else with the last name Campbell.

"I'll be taking care of Sammy from now on," Dean added, almost as an afterthought.

Dr. Michelson nodded and opened the door.

The eighteen-year old slipped inside the room and spotted his brother instantly- the only patient inside- and hurried to his bedside. Grabbing the chair set aside for guests, Dean sat down and peered at his sibling.

Sam lay on his back, a thin blue blanket pulled up to his midsection so as not to interfere with the chest tube running to the device beside the bed that chugged quietly away, removing excess air from the boy's chest cavity. A nasal cannula beneath his nose connected to an oxygen tank that sat alongside the air drainage device.

The fourteen-year old's face was pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes; rust coloured stains on either side of his mouth belied the blood that had seeped from his lips earlier. Stark white bandages along the left side of the boy's neck protected the sutures that held the injured muscle and skin together.

Sam's right arm lay atop the blanket, encased from wrist to elbow in a lime green cast. A butterfly bandage just below his hairline on his forehead held together a gash. An IV line punctured his left hand; bringing must needed fluids and medication into his body.

Dean swallowed thickly and took the fingers of his sibling's right hand into his.

"Hey Sammy," he murmured to his brother, "I'm here now."

Pausing, Dean blinked away tears, "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

W

"How is he?" Melanie asked Dean as soon as she saw him come into the waiting room.

"Rough," he replied, "But you're right, he's a fighter."

His girlfriend smiled, "That's good."

"Can I see him, Dean?" Terry asked.

Mrs. Sawyer put her hands on her son's shoulders, "Terrence."

"Sammy's still asleep," Dean told him, "I was just coming out to get a cup of coffee."

The fourteen-year old looked disappointed.

"Listen, you've all had a long night," Dean told the Sawyer family, "And I really appreciate you staying with me but Sammy's going to be okay now. There's no point of hanging around anymore."

"Okay, Honey," Mrs. Sawyer said.

"I'll let you know when Sam wakes up, all right?"

Terry nodded, "All right."

Dean smiled and punched the younger boy playfully in the shoulder.

"Let us know if you need anything," Mr. Sawyer told Dean and the teen nodded, promising that he would.

"I'll try and stop by when I can," Dean told Mel but the girl shook her head, "Don't worry about it, Dean. You just take care of Sam."

Standing on her toes, the blonde reached up and planted a kiss on her boyfriend's cheek, "Give that to Sam for me."

Dean smiled, only for Melanie to kiss him on the lips.

"That's all for you," she gave a coy smile.

Bidding goodbye to the Sawyers, Dean turned and made his way to the cafeteria to get himself some liquid energy.

W

Dean knew Sam had been through hell and that he needed to rest as much as he could but damn if it didn't unnerve him to see his sibling so quiet and still in that hospital bed.

Still feeling the need to talk to his brother, even though his sibling was asleep, the teen whispered, not about anything in particular, just needing to feel as though the fourteen-year old was listening to him.

"We'll make this work," Dean assured him, "I promise. I'll get a part-time job while I'm in school, make sure you have clothes… food to eat… a place to stay… but not Grandma and Grandpa's house, no… an apartment… I'll find us one…"

"D'n," the voice was so quiet it was almost nonexistent.

The eighteen-year old paused; his eyes wide in anticipation and he squeezed his brother's fingers.

"Sammy? Can you hear me? You awake, short stuff?"

"D'n," came the nearly inaudible reply.

Dean leaned forward, close to his sibling and squeezed the younger boy's hand again. Slowly, painfully, two hazel eyes opened to slits.

"Hey Sammy," the eighteen-year old murmured, smiling.

"Hur's," the younger boy rasped, his lips barely moving.

"You're in pain?" Dean asked, bending his ear close to his brother's mouth.

"Hur's," Sam repeated.

"Okay Sammy," Dean replied, "I'll get a nurse."

Reaching with his free hand, the teen pressed the red call button.

Lowering his head again, Dean murmured to his brother, assuring him that everything was going to be all right.

"P'w," Sam whimpered, tears springing up in his eyes and he gripped his brother's fingers.

"Grandpa?" Dean asked and Sam remained silent but the older boy knew what he meant, "He's gone, Sammy. He can't hurt you anymore."

The tears in his brother's eyes overflowed and dripped down his face.

"Sam," Dean whispered and used the blanket to dab at the moisture on his sibling's face.

Footsteps announced the arrival of the nurse and Dean turned to the woman.

"Sammy says he's in pain," he told her and she nodded, "I'll get him something and I'll let Dr. Michelson know he's awake."

Dean nodded his thanks and the nurse left.

A minute later she returned with the doctor. He looked surprised and pleased that his young patient was awake.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" Dr. Michelson asked, taking out a stethoscope and laying it against the boy's chest after pulling aside his hospital gown.

"Hur's," the boy moaned.

"Can you give him something for the pain?" Dean asked and the doctor nodded.

"Heart rate appears slightly elevated," the doctor muttered, mostly to himself, "But that's completely normal and to be expected. Nurse, can you give the boy something for his pain?"

The nurse nodded and inserted a needle into the IV line. Within seconds Sam's eyes had slid closed again.

"That should keep him comfortable for a few hours," Dr. Michelson assured Dean.

The teen nodded his thanks.

Once he was alone again with his brother, Dean leaned back and raked a hand through his hair.

The future that had up until yesterday had seemed so certain now had an air of dubiety now. Despite all the assurances he'd made to his brother, Dean was at a loss as to what to do next. Even though Samuel and Deanna had made plans for the possibility that they would both perish before their youngest grandson turned eighteen, the weight of what that truly meant for their eldest was only now being realized.

Though Dean had no intentions of abandoning his younger brother, he knew he seriously had to consider both their futures and that he had to do so sooner rather than later.

SPN

Sam held his mouth open as wide as possible without causing himself excruciating pain and allowed his brother to maneuver a spoonful of applesauce past his lips.

The fourteen-year old had already attempted to clumsily feed himself with his left hand and had only succeeded in smearing the pureed fruit down his chin.

Both Winchesters were silent; Sam because it was difficult to speak and Dean because he didn't have anything to say. It is said that actions speak louder than words and the teens felt that this couldn't be truer. Dean had been looking out for Sam since he was an infant and although there had been rocky patches in their relationship, the younger sibling wouldn't have trusted anyone else to feed him applesauce from a plastic spoon as he sat in the Lawrence General Hospital.

Sam didn't ask where their grandfather was and although Dean did not tell him anything- he didn't want to upset his brother more than he already was- the younger boy seemed to sense Samuel was not coming back.

Instead of focusing on what had happened, Dean spoke of the future, telling his brother his ideas and trying to give him something to look forward to.

SPN

Four days after Sam had been admitted to the hospital, Dr. Michelson was pleased with his progress and removed the chest tube from the teen, though kept him on oxygen therapy.

Logan and Terry, along with Melanie, visited the Winchesters, helping to alleviate the boredom and isolation both siblings were feeling.

"You have a pile of homework from Mrs. Gruber," Logan informed the younger Winchester, smirking, "I guess nearly getting killed doesn't prevent you from that."

Sam smiled slightly but only out of politeness.

"Everyone's been wondering where you are," Terry told him, "Kayla Bouchard said you had some sort of breakdown and ran away to Alaska to live with the bears and stuff."

The fourteen-year old snorted laughter."

"When are you coming back to school?" Logan asked, "We miss you."

Sam sighed, "… Don't know."

"Well, don't strain yourself or whatever," Terry told him, "You come back when you feel better."

Sam nodded and closed his eyes. He was getting tired.

Dean, keen to his sibling's needs, noticed this too and spoke to their friends.

"Why don't you guys come back tomorrow?"

"Sure," Melanie said, "C'mon you two, let's go home."

"Bye Sam!" the boys chorused and left the room.

"See you soon?" Mel asked Dean.

The teen shrugged, "Only if you come over here."

The girl gave a small smile, "Sure."

"See you then," Dean replied and kissed his girlfriend.

W

Sam's heart pounded in his chest, fear flooding his veins as he ran from the approaching footsteps.

His grandfather was coming to kill him. He needed to find somewhere to hide.

The teen, wide-eyed with fear, tried the knob of a closed door in the upstairs hallway, only to find it locked tight.

"No," Sam breathed, the footsteps getting closer and closer.

Looking up, the boy saw the hallway stretching impossibly long ahead of him, doors lining both sides.

"Come here for a moment," Samuel's voice spoke from just behind the boy.

The teen jumped, staring behind him in terror but no one was there.

Hurrying forward, Sam ignored the doors on either side of the hallway and just ran, not caring where he was going, only knowing that he had to get away.

Sam tried to call his brother but his voice came out as a raspy squeak, like a mouse's voice, and he knew Dean would never be able to hear him.

Tears sprang forth in the boy's eyes, blurring his vision and ran down his face.

The footsteps continued to pursue him down the endless hallway.

SPN

"Sam," Dean shook his sibling's shoulder gently, "Sammy, wake up, man, you're having a nightmare."

The teen whimpered in his sleep and Dean startled when tears slipped out from beneath his closed eyelids.

"SAMMY!"

Dean snapped and the younger Winchester's eyes opened right away.

"D'n," he rasped and the older boy gripped his shoulder tightly.

"It's okay," he murmured, "You're safe. It was only a dream."

Sam nodded, his eyes half-closed.

"Wish it was," he whispered.

SPN

"Take it easy," Dr. Michelson told the younger Winchester, "Don't overexert yourself, rest when you need to."

Sam nodded as the doctor spoke. Beside him, Dean bent over the desk at the nurses' station, filling out the papers that would discharge his brother from the hospital.

"If you have any difficulty eating soft foods or start choking, come in right away," the doctor warned.

"Okay," Sam replied, his voice still raspy but a great deal stronger than it had been.

The doctor nodded.

"Thank you," the fourteen-year old told him and the man smiled.

"Ready to go, Sammy?" Dean asked, coming up behind his brother.

The younger boy nodded.

"Thanks for everything, doctor," the eighteen-year old shook hands with Dr. Michelson.

Carefully laying an arm across his brother's shoulders, Dean guided his sibling out the hospital's front doors and to the waiting Impala.

SPN

Sam could barely believe that he and Dean were really here. Florida. Disney World.

The first thing that hit him was the heat and humidity. It felt like a sauna.

"I could get used to this," Dean commented, grinning widely.

Sam smiled back at his brother.

"Ready to swim?" Dean asked, pulling a pair of black swim trunks from his suitcase.

Their room was large, with two double beds, the furniture wood with a red stain, accented with brass, a green carpet and actual granite-topped counters in the bathroom.

Dean had wanted to do something nice for his brother, something to help him forget the events of the night he had almost died that had plagued his dreams for the past three months. Even though August was the hottest time of the year to visit Disney, Deanna had wanted to experience Florida in all its glory and the eighteen-year old was not going to complain.

Sam pulled his own swimsuit, a pair of blue trunks, from his own luggage.

"You're okay to take a dip in the pool before we go to the parks?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

The eighteen-year old smiled and stepped into the bathroom, pulling the door halfway closed while he changed.

Sam drew the heavy port-coloured drapes over the window and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

At first the idea of vacationing in Florida had been too much for the fourteen-year old, only bringing forth sad memories but then slowly he had come around to it. Their grandmother had planned the trip; she had wanted to go to Disney just once with her grandsons and not to do so now somehow seemed wrong, as though they would be dishonouring her memory. Now, Sam was sure that wherever their grandmother was, she was smiling down on them.

"You ready, short stuff?" Dean called from the bathroom.

"Yeah," Sam answered and his brother opened the door.

Handing his younger brother a towel, Dean slid his feet into a pair of flip-flops he'd bought just for this vacation.

"Let's go have some FUN!" Dean crowed happily, his cheer infectious and Sam found himself smiling as well, following his brother out of the room and down the hallway, past the rows of doors, vending machine, and ice machine to the elevators.

The doors to the lift opened just as the brothers arrived and a family of five- Mom, Dad, two boys and a girl- stepped off.

Sam tensed at first, worried they would see his scars and say something, but the family was only concerned with themselves and completely ignored the two teens.

"You okay?" Dean asked as the stepped into the elevator and the door closed.

The fourteen-year old peered at his blurred reflection in the polish, fake-gold wall of the lift, the scars from the bullet wounds on his chest and neck clearly visible.

"Yeah," he replied.

Dean reached out and put a hand on his right shoulder.

"They're nothing to be ashamed of," he whispered.

Sam's face flushed and he nodded.

The elevator stopped and the door opened to reveal the lobby of the resort with its high, glass ceiling, fountains and New Orleans decorations fit for a Mardi gras celebration.

"C'mon," Dean guided his brother out the open front doors of the lobby and stepped around the side of the building, following the sidewalk and strategically placed street signs with French names, to where the pool- or piscine- was located.

Crowded as it was in the heat of the day, the brothers managed to find an unoccupied spot of concrete and put their towels down.

The pool was filled with families with children of all ages from infants to teenagers and even a few clearly in their early twenties. A lifeguard in orange trunks sat atop an elevated seat, observing it all. The sounds of splashing, laughter, and chatting of happy people filled the humid air, enticing the boys further to try the water.

Dean moved first, stepping to the edge of the pool at the deep end and sitting down, dangling his feet into the cool, chlorinated liquid.

"C'mere, Sammy," he encouraged, holding an arm out.

Sam hesitated a moment before he did as his brother asked and sat down at the edge of the pool beside Dean, his legs in the water up to his calves.

"Nice, eh?" Dean asked and the fourteen-year old nodded, watching the people surrounding them, happily playing in the water or sunbathing, not a care in the world.

Sam squinted up at his brother and smiled, "Yeah, it's awesome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song by War.  
> As many of you know, if you've been reading my stories for a while, I am no doctor and get my information from various sources. For this story, I looked to the trust Internet for my medical jargon and processes. If I have made a mistake, I apologize.
> 
> I have been to Disney three times, the last two times staying at the Port Orleans- French Quarter resort and although I have never been to the pool, I am using my imagination at this point and my memory of what it was like. I highly recommend staying there if any of you have future plans to visit Disney World. We've never had a complaint.
> 
> Ladies and gents, this is the end. I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Please take a moment to leave a final kudos if you'd like and I'll see you in my next tale.

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from a Black Sabbath song.  
> Chapter title comes from an Iron Maiden song.  
> Please take a moment to leave Kudos or a Comment, either one would be greatly appreciated.


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